A Woman Of About Thirty-Six
by INeverExplainAnything
Summary: Last night I dreamt I went to Aigen again.
1. Prologue

A Woman of About Thirty-Six

Last night I dreamt I went to Aigen again.

Everything was the same, yet different. I could see the circular gravel drive ahead of me as it lead towards the front of that cheerfully painted yellow house. It seemed to me that it was both day and night, for I could feel the warm sun on my face despite being able to see the full moon hanging in the sky. I could even see the stars, bright and shining - like diamonds dropped by God himself that had skittered across the expanse of midnight sky. I didn't question this though, it seemed right. Those kind of things always seem right in dreams.

Once I had crossed the drive and entered the house, it was then that I realised what was different. There was no music to be heard, nor the joyful sounds of children laughing as they played. I could see not a person in sight. The empty hall seemed to delight in the sound of my lonely footsteps, loud and obtrusive in this still house. It was as though the very presence of a living soul fed it, kept it alive. It felt like the walls watched me with every single step I took. But I kept my head high, not wanting to let the emptiness get to me. I headed for a door down the left hand side of the marbled foyer, the door was the same as all the others but I headed for it with a bounce in my step, as though I was walking up to greet an old friend I hadn't seen in years. The chandeliers sparkled from above as I passed by paintings, bouquets of fresh flowers and the carefully placed piece of furniture. Every item in the grand foyer was perfect, carefully chosen and strategically placed to create an airy and inviting space. I didn't stop to marvel at any of this, instead I let my hand close upon the cold handle of the door I had practically skipped to and entered.

In this room there were no vases full of blooming flowers or dainty furniture. No, this room was dark and decadent - nothing like the hall I had just left. It reminded me of a story I had read to the children once, where the young heroine passes through the looking glass and finds herself in a whole new world. For there was not an inch of that perfectly ordinary cream coloured paint in this room, the walls were all covered in bookshelves made of dark wood. And if there were paintings, they were of large ships battling through an unrelenting ocean, of sirens luring sailors to their deaths. There were no chandeliers, just single lamps that bathed the room with a soft glow. Or when it grew colder, I knew the large fireplace would be lit and the flames would dance upon the dark walls and make the paintings appear to move.

I paid no attention to any of this, however. I didn't care about the books in those shelves, or the expensive looking gramophone that sat dusty and unused in one corner. No, all I cared about was the man sitting behind the large desk. His brow slightly furrowed as his hand scribbled across a page, the lamp on his desk casting a warm glow on his patrician face and illuminating the stubble that was slowly growing back on that sharp jaw. My fingers itched, wanting to know what it felt like to touch that face. I wanted to know what it felt like to hold that face in my small hands, to feel that stubble gently scratch against my cheek as my lips went to seek his. All these thoughts seared into my brain, feeling vivid and real and far too hot. Making my face burn with embarrassment and something else I dared not name. I shouldn't have thought such a thing. He was not mine to hold. Nor mine to kiss. I shouldn't have thought anything of the sort.

I didn't know I was dreaming. I thought it was really that long ago summer, that I had somehow found my way back and there I now stood. Waiting, hoping, for him to notice me; for the creased line of his brow to disappear and instead his face would stretch into that of a welcoming quirk of the lips. The barest flicker of contentment would be in those eyes at seeing me - and bare it may be, but I would see it and cling to it. I would keep it close and treasure it in that silly manner reminiscent of a child with their favourite soft toy.

I didn't understand what I was feeling, I had never experienced the rollercoaster of emotions my mind, and heart, were going through. Back then I had no idea what it was like to go on a rollercoaster, had no clue what it was like to reach the peak of the ride and then plummet down along the tracks with the wind rushing against my face, my hands sweating as I gripped the safety rail while I screamed with both joy and terror. The first time I went on one was at Coney Island, and I remember Gretl taking my hand and insisting we go on just one - just _one_. I told myself I wasn't scared, but I was - yet, I couldn't deny how much I wanted to go on it.

And then, after that first ride, I wanted to go again and again. That rush of adrenaline was addicting. And it made me remember just how I'd felt all those years ago, in that house during the summer of 1938. It was just like that rollercoaster.

The same feeling of my stomach dropping, the incredible rush, the terror, the giddy excitement of surviving it all. It was how I had felt after every single encounter I had had with the man I now called my husband. Who was now dear to me, who could compliment me without my face turning the same shade as summer strawberries. Of course, he still could whisper a few chosen words in my ear and then my face _would_ flush. It would burn my cheeks and he'd smirk as I stammered as if I was twenty-two all over again.

Now, he was mine, my darling Georg. But then, back in that cheerful house with its long corridors, sprawling gardens and that lake with its water so still it was like a sheet of glass, he wasn't mine. Nor was he Georg. No, to me he was Captain von Trapp and the very thought of calling him anything other than that was enough to make my mind halt.

But I used to treasure every time I went into that study. I didn't know it then - I didn't know very much at all, it seemed - that I was climbing to a height I'd never reached before. With every day that passed, my little dreams became a little brighter, a little more exciting - exhilarating. I didn't think I would fall, I had no idea how to. In the back of my mind there was a voice telling me to stop, that I _was_ going to fall - that everything that goes up must come down. But I ignored it, I told it I wouldn't fall. I couldn't fall. I was reaching up to Heaven and God would give me wings, so even if I did trip, I wouldn't fall. I'd float down gently.

I was wrong. I reached out to God and he shut the gates on my dreams. And I fell, with no wings, all the way back down.

In the end, it didn't matter. For Heaven was not what I was looking for - though I had believed it was. I, in my youth, had thought the closer I could be to God, the happier I would be. My devotion knew no bounds, and in the end it nearly tore me apart. The me in my dream didn't know this though; she was young, idealistic, naive. She sang songs and rode down bannisters without a care in the world.

So she stayed in that room, and delighted in the smile the man behind the desk gave her. But then I woke, startled by the cold morning breeze blowing through an open window. It had been so warm in the imagination of my mind, and so I turned over - reaching out as I did - for the warmth that I craved. And I felt stubble graze against my cheek and a strong hand work its way around my waist before pulling me in tighter, back into the warm cocoon I had been in before I woke. There was a deep rumbling question from the man holding me, asking if I was all right. And I simply nodded against the chest my head was now curled into. Yes, everything was fine.

I remember that house with fondness - at least I try to. I remember that study where we would sit and talk. I could so easily see my cup of tea sitting on a piece of that dark wood - the dainty china looking so out of place in that room. I suppose if I could have seen myself, I would have been just like that cup of tea - except not as dainty and certainly not as refined. I could even close my eyes and remember the smell of the leather couches, of the cigar he'd have held in one hand on some nights. And I remembered those hands, the same ones that held me now, and how I would think about them idly throughout the day and then make myself turn scarlet.

I dream of it often, that house in Aigen. I do not tell him about my dreams, for he gets a look in his eyes - a faraway look - if I ever do. It makes me feel like he won't ever come back to me. So, I do not speak of it. For it is ours no longer, it doesn't belong to us. But to the past. And there it shall stay.

* * *

 **A/N** So, in case you didn't notice already, this story was inspired (a lot, a lot) by Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I also wanted to attempt the April prompt, which was to write a story in first person - something I have never done before. And if you are not familiar with the book, it is written in first person from the perspective of a second wife.

It's very different to how I normally write and so I apologise if it isn't the greatest but I am quite happy with myself for doing something different and out of my comfort zone. It has been nearly a year since I started writing and this is my 20th story - hot diggity damn. And I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has either reviewed, favourited or followed any of my stories. It really means a lot - especially reviews (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

To anyone reading them, I am working on my two multi-chapter stories. I'm just (still) struggling with writer's block which is why a lot - okay, practically everything - I have published recently has been inspired by another book or film. Though, I do hope you all have enjoyed them anyway.

I own nothing, tra-la-la.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

I wonder what my life would have been like today if I had been a more obedient sort of girl. If I had listened and behaved like the lady I surely wasn't. Sometimes, I can't help but think about what could have happened to myself if I had been more like Hannah, another postulant I had known when I was at Nonnberg Abbey. She had been quiet and meek, and had trembled with fear anytime Sister Berthe had passed us by. Hannah had never had to kiss the floor, had never been the subject of whispered words and judging looks. No, she had been a perfect candidate for the novitiate: dutiful in her religion and always on time (not just for every meal).

It seems that my mind can't stop thinking 'what if'. My dream still lingers with me, I can't quite picture it anymore; I can't quite see the dark shelves filled with books, or the paintings on the walls. But I can still feel it. I can feel the way I had absently nibbled on my bottom lip while my heel dug into the plush rug underneath my feet. And I can feel those eyes on me, can feel the way my heart had swelled whenever he had smiled at me. Of course, I can remember the details of that house - the real house, not the ghostly hunk of architecture from my dream - when I close my eyes. I can see the paintings, the flowers and even the housemaids that seemed to dot the corridors like moving statues. If I put my mind to it, I can remember the way the sun would shine through the large bay window of the parlour room and illuminate the crystal vases that had roses bursting from them, causing reflections of light to dance across the room. I will always remember those roses: they were always cream - the petals edges slightly darker and curling in, just like the pages of a well loved tome. The scent would fill the room on a sunny afternoon, blown by the breeze coming through an open window, and would mix together with the smell of rain from the previous night to create an intoxicating scent incomparable to anything else. And I can see myself lounging on the settee, one foot dangling idly as I turn the pages of a book that my husband would have called 'utterly asinine and overly dramatic'.

Maybe it's because of the dream, or just the idleness of age, that has made me become so pensive about it all. Here I sit, wondering if I could have been sitting somewhere else right now if I had been a little different. The morning chill has faded now; only the rich sunshine can be felt as it manages to slip through the cracks and windows of our kitchen. There are no roses or housemaids here. The table I sit at is old and worn, and I can hear the occasional groan of wood as I work mending some clothes. A ray of sun manages to fall on my hands as the needle pulls the thread and I can't help but reflect that these hands have done so much. They had gripped tree branches, glided across banisters, and held my husband's hand with sheer terror as we escaped from untold horrors. These hands were not the hands of a Baroness - and yet, they were. I was Baroness von Trapp.

It was funny to think that I was a Baroness at all. Me! Just a common mountain girl that had had dreams of becoming a nun. I was nothing like Elsa Schraeder - the woman that could've so easily married my Captain. And I was nothing like the first Baroness von Trapp. I had certainly grown over the years - let us not mention how many - of course, it had taken time and I had made mistakes. But I can still picture myself the very first day I had stepped foot into that beautiful house in Aigen. I don't think I'd ever forget it. Me, in my dress not even the poor had wanted, with my tattered carpetbag and old guitar. I had been so filled with optimism that day - still terrified - but full of that delightful thing called hope. Not even a withering look from Sister Berthe could have crushed my spirit that day. I had felt important. The Reverend Mother had chosen me. Me, the black sheep of Nonnberg, out of everyone in the convent to go and look after the seven - _seven_ , my mind had constantly repeated - children of Salzburg's greatest hero, Captain von Trapp.

When I had first met that great hero, he had not struck me as one at all. He had been cold and distant, a man seemingly incapable of any sentiments at all. Maybe that was how wars were won, I had thought. They needed cool calculation, not warm sentiments and long heartfelt monologues about the good of man. You needed to be a certain type of person to be able to harm another human, I had believed. Maybe all heroes were like that. They weren't the types I had read about in soppy books; with dashing smiles and the ability to simply beat an enemy with charm and a wink.

No, Captain von Trapp had not been my idea of a hero. And certainly not my idea of a sea captain for that matter. Sister Berthe had always said I spent too much time up on my mountain with my head stuck in the clouds. She had probably been right, I knew that now. And I guess to some extent I knew she had been right then, too. But I had refused to let it be so, at least in my own mind.

So, when I had arrived at the house and met the father of the children I was to look after, I had been surprised. I had expected a gruff sea captain, with a beard like Merlin, who told stories about his previous victories. Not the refined creature in a suit that had appeared in front of me, all sharp angles with piercing blue eyes that watched me with barely concealed impatience. That had been a shock. This man was a hero, and according to the Reverend Mother, both a brave and fine man. I had been filled with such anger about his complete lack of care towards his children, had been disgusted by the way he had treated them as nothing more than cadets upon a ship. It had been a selfish kind of pleasure when I had mocked him and blown that whistle back at him. Oh, his face! I shall never forget it. He had not frightened me, no matter how much he wished he had. I had the upper hand! I didn't quite realise it, but I did. Youth does that, though, it makes you feel brave when you're more likely to be acting a downright fool.

However, despite my ability to not be rattled by the formidable Captain, the children had been another matter entirely. For them, my heart had ached, as I had known what it was like to lose someone you loved - I had lost both my parents at a young age. That house in Aigen had been filled with nothing but the haunting memory of a woman long gone, whose very name could never be uttered for fear of angering the creature that strode through the house like a caged tiger. Nobody wanted to anger it, for the creature would lash out at you - but it would be done so carefully, so quickly and without much violence that you wouldn't believe you'd been hurt until the cutting words had pierced through the other side of your heart. I had not been worried for myself, for he hadn't the ability to hurt me. Not yet, at any rate. But the children I so desperately wanted to help were in pain and this man was the cause.

I had been so relieved that the Captain had left - I had still been completely appalled that he would leave his children in the hands of someone he'd known less than a day. But I was clearly no threat; I could see it in his eyes. His clear-cut dismissal of me made it obvious that he thought I'd be gone by the time he returned with his guests: with his soon-to-be-wife. That had puzzled me. I could not have pictured the creature showing any emotions worthy of gaining someone's affection. But still, maybe it was different with her. Maybe she was soft where he was hard, kind where he was not. I had prayed this was true. It was not my business to pry, at any case. I told myself I would keep away from the creature - that man in the sharp suits with his silly whistle - I would help those children. No matter what.

I had learnt, as the weeks passed, that this man had been torn apart by his grief. One day, the creature in the suit had shown that it did have a heart. A broken one. And me, with my penchant for broken things - for needing to help - had wanted to fix him. And along the way I broke myself. I didn't even realise it, but I left little parts of me behind. I thought: if I give this family my own heart, than they shall beat again as one. I was young and didn't think. It never would have occurred to me that they'd give it back to me completely altered. All I had wanted to do was help, both because I had come to care for those children and because I had wanted to prove, so very much, to everyone at Nonnberg Abbey that I could do it. That I wasn't some silly girl.

I remember how my heart had felt fit to burst when the Captain had first hugged his children upon his return from Vienna. I truly thought I'd achieved my goal - despite his saying that I was fired. He had reunited with his children. And I hadn't been fired, the man had even apologised to me. Asked me to stay. I can picture it as if it had happened mere moments ago: me, dripping wet as I stood on that impressive staircase, my cheap stockings clinging to my skin. I could feel the water dripping onto the carpet as I shivered. But I hadn't minded. He had acted so differently from the man I'd first met. And, oh, how proud of myself I had been. I still cannot believe to this day how overly confident I had become after that. Sometimes he likes to remind of how self-righteous and stubborn I had been, and how if I had been any other governess I would have been kicked out onto the street. Despite my own arrogance, I had not been so naive as to think a song and being yelled out by a girl half your age would change someone completely. People do not suddenly become different people overnight. We don't lose our demons, they are always with us. But we learn from them, and in time, learn to cope with them.

Because, sometimes that creature does return. But I am not the same girl I was then, and I know that when I see that look in his eye, that dreadful faraway look where it seems my husband has suddenly become a man of nothing but cold marble, I know a carefully placed hand on his can be enough. For we do not need words, my heart is connected to his and so I will gently tug on those heartstrings and he will know he isn't alone. And then that mask will slowly fade and my statue will once again come back to life.

For it is scary, when you see someone you love turn away and shut themselves in. It frightens me, unlike it did then. While I know it is a shield - a weapon - against the dark thoughts that invade that curious mind, I am wary. Because I will never forget the shrill sound of the whistle, or the downcast faces of the children I now call my own. In those first few weeks after his return the children had lived in a state of giddy terror, hoping against hope that the creature in the suit would not return. For he had no feelings, except for those of frustration and an air of indifference, and I had known that they were scared that he'd return. That the happiness of that house would be shattered by the shrill, demanding call of that whistle.

I am so grateful that my life is where it is now, and I thank God each day for the happiness He has granted me. All those years ago I had never imagined that I would have children, or that I would even be married to a man of flesh and blood. Taking my vows to become a Benedictine nun had been the only matrimony I had thought of. But here I was, sitting in my own kitchen while a few of my children played outside. I cast a glance out the large window and watch them playing happily in the trees. Their shrieks of laughter manage to filter through the glass of the window pane, causing me to smile. But I feel it slip away as my serious musings catch me again. As I do wonder what would have happened to them if I hadn't been the black sheep of Nonnberg. Would they still be marching, breathing deeply and answering to a whistle? Would someone else be sitting where I sat now? A woman with her cool blonde hair piled high, her outfits perfectly neat while she held a thin cigarette in a perfectly manicured hand.

I doubted it.

Which was a terrifying thought. Funny to think my whole life was to be decided because of one person. And that person had been Sister Berthe. It had been she who had told the Reverend Mother to send me off to the von Trapps. Her patience had worn thin with me, and because dear Sister Margaretta hadn't the heart to send me away and had defended my place at Nonnberg, Sister Berthe had compromised. So, I was to become the governess. Not Hannah, who had been initially suggested, but me. "Let her see what life is like out there," Sister Berthe had said. And in a moment, my life was changed.

I used to think everything happened in moments. That life changing events happened in big explosive epiphanies. There are moments that come and go, leaving everything changed in its wake. But it wasn't loud like I thought, there were no signs telling me that now, this right here, was the moment I should remember. Why should I think being sent to look after a naval captain's children would be that monumental? It had been something to get through, at the time. There are so many moments that pass us by and change our lives without our even realising. Or we don't think they're even important at all. They seem so small, so insignificant, that you don't know what has happened until it has already been and gone.

And that's what happened to me, I had wanted to treasure the moments I thought mattered that I missed everything that truly did. Well, maybe not all. But so many simple things passed me by, that I wish I had savoured the moment, so I could relive it over and over, or at least have been more aware of what was happening to me. There were some moments I had managed to catch, and I had grasped at them greedily like a child with a shiny new toy. Looking back, there were so many times I wish I had paid more attention to, that I wish I had been a little wiser and less of a silly fool. But I was just a simple girl of twenty-two, and how I was I to know that my life was to be changed by a brooding sea captain and his seven boisterous children?

I remember that first week of being in number 34 so clearly, for it had shaken me in so many ways. I had been nothing but a poor mountain girl. I had no experience with the rich, had never dealt with housemaids, butlers or housekeepers. These things had been new and alarming. But nothing had been as disarming as the tension that filled that house.

In the early days, I had been so grateful for the times I had managed to escape the walls of that villa. Taking the children on outings to the town, up to my mountain and just roaming about the long roads of Salzburg have become some of my happiest memories. And then there had been my day off. Every Sunday, it had been agreed, I would have the day to myself. So, I would return to Nonnberg and visit the nuns and other postulants. But mostly, it was so Sister Berthe could keep an eye me – though I had believed her capable of seeing across the river and into the villa.

On that very first Sunday morning, I took the bus back into the town, passing by open fields and mountains as the bus rumbled down the winding lanes. When I finally reached the town centre, I would then begin the climb up to the old abbey. The sun would be hot on the back of my neck and my dress would cling to me in uncomfortable clumps. That first week I hadn't cared, I had been so relieved to see the tall iron gates of the abbey that the heat didn't bother me. I'd ring the bell and wait patiently to be let in before I made my way towards whatever room Sister Berthe was in.

That day, it had been the laundry; she was in the little courtyard where all the washing lines were, her tall figure striking amidst the many white sheets blowing in the breeze. Her head turned and she pursed her lips instantly upon seeing me, and then they tightened even further upon seeing me in one of my new dresses.

"Hello, Sister Berthe," I said, my body instantly beginning to make its way towards the floor. It was such a habit: to kiss the floor whenever I saw her. I'm certain if I saw her now my body would still be inclined to do it.

The nun stopped me and fixed me with her usual no-nonsense stare.

"You should have no reason to be kissing the floor, Maria," she said, her words sharp, but not unkind.

"Well…" I said hesitantly, my thoughts straying to my few interactions with Captain von Trapp.

Sister Berthe was always sharp - she was like a magpie, except she didn't have an eye for shiny things but for lies. She could always sense the hesitation, the fear. If she hadn't been a nun, I would have sworn she was a witch of some kind.

"How is it going with the von Trapp family?" she asked, as she continued to peg a wet sheet onto the washing line.

"All right, I think," I said, my words coming out reluctantly, as if they were teeth and Sister Berthe some psychotic dentist. "The Captain is not a very kind man." I frowned. "He has gone to Vienna and left me with the children."

Sister Berthe watched me, her bright eyes unblinking. She sucked on her teeth a moment before she spoke. There was the sound of the wet sheets dripping onto the ground and wet slap of fabric as she threw a habit onto the line, her eyes never leaving me.

"It is your job to look after the children, Maria," she said, pegging the habit with a sharp stab. "How is he unkind?" Her gaze softened somewhat as she peered at me from around the wet material. "Did he say something inappropriate?" The scowl returned and her eyes flared a moment. "Did he do something?"

Me, still living in my little bubble of naive youth, didn't understand the meaning in her words. So, I just shrugged.

"No, he is just very strict," I said, my brow furrowing as the memories of that first night rushed to fill my head. "Orders and discipline is all he talks of. Children should be allowed to play."

The nun sighed and I could tell she was refraining from rolling her eyes at me. "Maria, not everyone is like you." She gave her head a little shake. "Nobody is like you."

"I am trying," I said earnestly. "Really, Sister Berthe, I am. But how can little children be expected to march up and down the grounds, and not be allowed to even throw a ball? Or run freely?"

"Maria, you are there to look after the children. This means assisting Captain von Trapp with his wishes," said the nun. "Those poor things have been through enough, and so has that man, you are not to upset them all with your silly ideas."

I opened my mouth to protest but she fixed me with her hard stare, holding me in place with all the force of God - or maybe just the full force of her own mind. I swallowed my outrage, trying to remember to be calm. I had something to prove. And most of all, I had to prove it to Sister Berthe.

"Yes, Sister Berthe," I said, blowing out a puff of air.

I watched as Sister Berthe pegged the last bit of washing and picked the old basket from the ground. When she stood to face me, her expression was unreadable. I returned her stare with my own wide-eyed look of defiance. I could hear the bell tolling in the distance, the sounds vibrating off the walls and then moments later the measured footsteps of the Sisters and other postulant walking towards the refectory. Before either of us could utter another word, there was a polite cough.

It was Hannah, one of the postulants I shared my room with. She was quite tall but had this habit of stooping to make herself appear smaller than she was. Her watery eyes darted from me to Sister Berthe before she gave a small, awkward little bow towards the nun.

"The Reverend Mother wishes to see you, Mistress," said Hannah quietly, her eyes on the ground.

"Very well," replied Sister Berthe and then she turned to me and added stiffly, "You are welcome to join us for morning tea, Maria."

"Thank you, Sister Berthe, but I best get back to Aigen," I replied. "I'm going to teach the children a new song."

She paused in the doorway and said, "I thought you were going to follow the wishes of the father, Maria."

"But-"

Sister Berthe spoke over me, and addressed Hannah. "Hannah, if you were looking after children would you follow the parents wishes or do what you wanted?"

I couldn't help the frown that creased my brow. Hannah knew nothing about children! She was at least ten years older me but in my hotheadedness I knew that didn't make her any wiser than me. She had never worked with children before, like I had.

"The parents," she said quickly, refusing to even look at me. I huffed under my breath, but Sister Berthe noticed. She always noticed.

"Maria, while you may be off looking after those children, you are still a part of this abbey," she said sternly. "And if it was up to me, I would have you out of that poor man's house and out of this abbey. Alas, it is not up to me. And I will pray every day that maybe, just maybe, the Captain will be able to knock some sense into that head of yours." Then she was gone with the swish of her black dress.

I turned to Hannah, who was still staring at the ground and asked her why she'd said that. The girl mumbled something under her breath. Whatever her reason, I didn't care. They didn't know anything.

Sister Berthe's words hadn't hurt me, I was used to them. She was all smoke without fire – well, except that one time I accidentally set her wimple on fire. But I had had worse things said my way, that was for sure. The only thing that frustrated me was that I did try my best, and I wanted to serve the Lord so much. I was madder at myself for not being like the other girls, though; I think I'd rather a whole day of marching and breathing deeply than being anything like Hannah. No, I don't think I could have stood to be anything like her.

* * *

 **A/N** So I have been working on this story ever since I published the first chapter - which was actually a year ago today. But I really wanted to finish a story and then post it so I don't leave people hanging… again. Admittedly, I haven't completed it but half of it is so I might even post it in two parts.

This story, again, is inspired by Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I'm essentially blending them together to make something new so this will be AU. If you haven't read Rebecca (or seen an adaption) that really doesn't matter*. But if you haven't seen it, please know that I have done some horrible things to certain characters. Well, one character in particular.

This story is completely in first person: Maria's point of view. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea and it's a bit different from the norm but I do hope those that stick around do enjoy it. I've had a lot of fun writing it, as painful as some parts have been. It's given me a lot of leeway to write more creatively and be over descriptive - which is fitting with the style of the novel - and something I prefer to do.

Also, if you are a big fan of the children, I will let you know that they hardly feature in this. They do pop up now and again (as they are important to both Maria and the Captain) but I am mostly focusing on the interactions between those two.

*I do recommend watching the 1940 Alfred Hitchcock version if you want to see it, it's amazing and one of my favourite films. But definitely do read the book!

 _If you see something and it sounds incredibly clever - it's probably something taken from the book and not my own devising._

Thank you for reading my stupidly long A/N! And also a _very_ big shout out to both bloomandgrow and IDontKnowYourSignal. If it wasn't for these two incredibly lovely ladies, I would still be stuck in a rut and you would have no stories from me. They have helped me a lot with this monster of a story.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Those first few weeks were gone in the blink of an eye. I could not believe I had been living away from the abbey for so long. My days had changed so much but I was already getting used to my new routine. The luxurious duvet and soft pillows that held me while I slept were becoming less of a novelty and more a part of my normal life. I didn't even realise it at the time, that I was slowly becoming used to such a lush way of life. There were no loud bells or the sharp cold that invaded the abbey walls. If I could have given life at the villa a colour, it would have been a lush amber - like the colour of honey - warm and sweet. Of course, I was still a little bewildered by the speed at which a housemaid, or even Frau Schmidt would appear, if something was needed - or more usual in my case, something had broken. It was a busy but satisfying life in that big house as I lost myself to both its charm and the children's.

Not everything had been wonderful; my honey glazed life was coming to end and soon I would feel the sting. The children were still a little troublesome: Liesl was distracted easily, Louisa was as stubborn as her ingratiating father and Kurt complained about every ten minutes while going through arithmetic equations. I was so determined in my plan that I was patient and kind, perhaps a little firm when needed, but ultimately I wanted to help. I refused to let it get me down so I persevered and in the end it paid off. What I believed had been my biggest hurdle was over; the children had began to open and trust me. My world was still peaches and cream. But the sting was coming, things weren't that simple - I had forgotten about the Captain. He, I had not won over. I hadn't even heard from him until he arrived back at the villa.

The first week he was back had been the hardest. I had treaded carefully, so unsure of this new alliance. Because when the man had apologised to me, in soft tones with eyes that had looked at me - not through me - the little bubble of hope had gotten bigger. And I was so scared it would burst. Unfortunately, I had many faults - as Sister Berthe was wont to remark - and one of them was that I was far too outspoken. I had told the Captain this, but in my mind I knew the extent. My mouth had a way of running itself and getting me into trouble. It was lucky that I barely had to see Captain von Trapp, he tended to be entertaining his guests or would keep to his study - a _forbidden_ room. Occasionally he would pass us by in the nursery and check on the children, barely acknowledging my existence, which suited me fine. As long as he was engaging with this children, I didn't care. However, that all came to end on the Sunday of my third week - the first Sunday off I had while the Captain was home.

It had been a warm day, without a cloud in the sky. The breeze was cool on my face as I shut the gate to Nonnberg Abbey behind me. It had been humbling to see the Sisters at work, to see the gentle smile on Sister Margaretta's face and the permanent scowl of distrust on Sister Berthe's. Even though I visited every week, I had become so swept up in the life of 34 Aigen that it was like being brought back down to earth when I went back to the convent. The quiet footsteps, the sounds of hymns echoing down the sombre halls, the high walls and iron gates. It was all so different to the life I was living on the other side of the Salzburg River. Visiting the abbey still brought me comfort and a sense of peace, but something had changed within me. I knew it wasn't the luxury of the villa, those kinds of things had been something I'd learned to live without and so I wasn't going to start demanding them now. I didn't know then that it was simply that I felt like I belonged back in that large house, and that I did not belong within those convent walls. But these thoughts didn't plague me as I stepped through the old abbey gate; I simply discarded them as one might the wrapper of a sweet.

With one quick glance at the blue sky that stretched overhead, I made my way back down towards the town proper. I hadn't bothered to stop once I passed the bus stop in the centre of the busy square. This afternoon I would not get that infernal automobile, with its sticky seats and loud driver that spat tobacco out the window intermittently. No, I would walk. It would be much quicker, I knew, to get the bus. It would take a little under an hour for me to make it back to the villa on foot, but I didn't mind. Most of the roads were flat, the paths cutting through the land I loved so much like a snake. With the sun behind me, I set off down the road, singing under my breath as I went.

Occasionally I would have to stop and readjust the hat on my head, for it was far too big for my head and was constantly on the urge of being blown away. It was midway through trying to get the hat on the right angle that I felt something on my hand. I glanced up and felt a warm raindrop burst on my cheek. I blinked, and then with a very unlady like scream, bolted under the nearest tree as the heavens opened and poured down.

It was the kind of rain I loved - summer rain. I could still see the sun if I turned around, shining brightly in the distance. They were always so strange, sun showers; being able to see the bright sun overhead and still hear the happy chirping of birds amongst the tall trees as the rain fell. I knew it was a warning of a storm ahead, and if I squinted in the distance I could see the looming clouds pouring in from the east on the horizon. I made a mental note to be prepared for what was sure to be a full house in my room later that evening if the storm promised to be as bad it looked.

The burst of rain had already turned the dusty road I'd been walking on to mud and spotted it with puddles; the rippled surface reflecting the view of the blue sky above. Normally, I would have run through that rain, my arms wide as I let the drops fall onto my skin. But I was heading back to Aigen and I didn't think I could bear the look I would get when Franz opened the door. But, he was never cheerful, so I suppose it didn't make a difference whether I was dry or sopping wet. With a shrug, I stepped out into the rain, the gentle droplets falling against my skin. It had already eased, I noticed, as I continued down the road. It was just a soft patter now, my dress was still somewhat dry and I was actually grateful for the large hat upon my head. I smiled, pleased that the butler would not look down on me - which was stupid, I knew that now, but then, the man had managed to make me feel small and insignificant.

My joy didn't last long, for a minute later, a car came hurtling down the road, ripped through a huge puddle and splattered me with water and mud. I didn't move, I just stood there and let out the saddest, most pathetic noise I think I've ever made. The anger welled up when I saw the car had pulled over a little way down the road, and I marched towards it, my fists tightly holding onto my ruined dress.

The car was sleek and dark, looking expensive and elegant - very out of place along this wide and tree lined road. A window rolled down, and I trudged up to it, my feet squelching in my sodden shoes.

"You should be more careful where you are driving, sir!" I said, squinting into the darkness of the car.

The car just huffed at me. "If you had as much brains as you do arrogance, you might have thought to get the bus, Fraulein."

The door opened and the Captain unfolded from within. He had dark sunglasses on, so I could not see his eyes, but I could see his mouth, which was twisted into an amused smirk.

"And what makes me arrogant?" I asked, trying to ignore what I was certain was a piece of mud sliding down the back on my leg and into my shoe.

"You thought you could out walk the rain," the man replied. He opened the boot of the car and grabbed something before tossing it towards me. It was a blanket. "Wrap that around you and get in."

"I'm not cold," I argued, glaring at him. "Besides, it didn't look like it was going to rain earlier."

"It's Salzburg, it always rains. And it's not to keep you warm, it's so you don't dirty my car."

"It's your own fault," I said, not moving an inch. "I was perfectly clean before you ran me off the road."

"I did not," he said, sliding back into the car. I stood there a moment, tossing between being petulant and just walking back to the villa myself, and the chance to sit down and not have to walk home with mud filled shoes. A hand came out of the window and a finger was crooked, indicating with very clear impatience for me to hurry up.

I sighed, and wrapped the blanket around me. It was heavy, and smelt like old firewood and that odd dusty smell that things get when they have been locked away in the same space for years. I let myself fall awkwardly into the passenger seat, trying not to gawp at the luxurious interior that greeted me. I felt like a bad puppy that had gone against his master and jumped into the muddy lake. I suppressed the urge to bark at him. But only just.

"Besides," the Captain went on as he smoothly shifted the car into motion. "I was merely trying to see what idiot was walking in the rain." He paused a moment to shift the car into higher gear as the road widened and stretched ahead of us. "Of course, it was my idiotic governess."

"Like I said, Captain, it was perfectly clear when I started walking," I said hotly. I glanced out the window and saw the scenery was once again sunny and bright. "And it's perfectly fine now."

"Hmm," came the muttered reply, "there is a storm coming though." I said nothing, happily stewing in my own discontent. I felt him glance at me before he spoke again, "I apologise for the dress. I'm sure if you put it to soak overnight, it will be fine in the morning."

"It's probably ruined," I said, determined to act the bad puppy. "I know you may have thousands of impossibly sharp suits to choose from, but I do not have multitudes of fancy dresses."

"Well, in that case, Fraulein, I will endeavour to get you a fancy dress," replied the Captain, and I could tell by his tone that he was secretly laughing at me. "Would you like a hat, too? You could certainly do with one that doesn't look ridiculous on you."

I couldn't help the snort that escaped me as I tried to rearrange myself in my seat. "There is nothing very fanciful about me. I thought anyone with eyes could see that I was farm-bred. I'd look very silly indeed with my ill-fitting clothes and old shoes compared to all your friends."

There was silence for a while and I busied myself with watching the landscape blur past. We passed by a large paddock, a few horses trotting about the green grass as the sun continued to shine. Though I could still see the edges of the brewing storm lining the mountains. I had quite forgotten about the man sitting next to me until he spoke.

"O-ho, I don't know," he said slowly, and once again, I could hear that he was mocking me. "Put you in a fine gown, some high-heeled shoes and stick a comb in your hair, I daresay you'd pass for a lady. Maybe even a countess." He turned to face me as his hands effortlessly turned the wheel and made us go around a bend in a flash. "An eccentric countess, I suppose."

There should have been a world of difference between a man and a tiger, but in that moment I had found that a tiger and Captain von Trapp were one in the same. For he grinned at me, just like a tiger before it's prey, before he returned his sunglasses covered gaze back to the road in front of us. The rest of the journey passed in relative silence and I was grateful when the trees on the right side of the road became the long yellow wall of the villa. We were finally at the gate and it was opened by a portly man who gave the Captain a respectable nod as we drove through. We turned left, heading down towards the large garage at the end of the small side lane.

With quick and swift movements, the car was parked and I was still busy staring around me at the large shed before I realised the Captain had already vacated the car and was talking to the same man that had let us in the main gate. I hurriedly got up and walked towards them, they were speaking about cars - something I knew very little about, and cared little for - but I watched as the Captain spoke to the groundsman. He was polite, not ill-tempered or teasing as he had been with me, and they exchanged a few more words before the groundsman noticed me and smiled warmly - briefly introducing himself as Klaus. I returned the smile and politely told him my name, and then the Captain - seeming to have forgotten about me - turned and raised a brow before instructing me to follow him.

I kept about one step behind as we walked in silence; just the sound of crunching gravel and my squelching shoes. The bought of rain had unearthed the scents of the day and I could smell the sweetness of the jasmine that climbed along the high wall of the villa. A few bees buzzed pass and I closed my eyes briefly and tried to recall the feel of the rain on my skin from earlier. The moment was gone though, my sunny day had been darkened by the towering figure of Captain von Trapp. I watched him walk in front of me, unsure on what to say or do. I had had little interaction since the day he returned and I felt awkward and uncertain. Which was something I wasn't used to feeling.

He walked stiffly, as if marching, straight for the front door. It opened without him having to slow and he simply breezed through. I followed and saw the sour faced Franz, who, taking one look at me, arched a thin brow in silent judgement. I followed the Captain inside the house and down the small flight of stairs, very aware of the fact that I was trekking mud across the marbled floor. I still felt like the bad dog, who was now following its master in hopes of a reprieve. Even though it was his fault I was soaking wet.

There was a sound of jingling keys before the housekeeper bustled into view. She took one look at me and immediately cried out.

"Dear!" she said, closing in on me like a distressed mother hen, "what has happened to you?"

"I was run off the road, Frau Schmidt," I said, sliding a glance towards the Captain. He said nothing but his mouth quirked ever so slightly. "And I had the terrible misfortune of being splattered by a puddle. I am so sorry for making such a mess."

The housekeeper shook her head and patted my shoulder gingerly. "Some of those drivers can be so inconsiderate. I don't trust those wretched autocars! Man was not made to move that fast."

I nodded eagerly and tried to suppress the smile on my face. I could feel the Captain glaring at me now and I turned towards him.

"Don't you agree, Captain?" I asked innocently.

"Oh, the Captain is always a careful driver," said Frau Schmidt before he could even speak. "He would never do such a thing."

"Indeed," came the stiff reply from the Captain, his eyes still on me. "Now, Frau Schmidt, would you mind taking our poor governess and getting her cleaned up." He gave me a polite smile - a smile I didn't trust at all - and walked away. I made my way to follow the housekeeper but the man turned and called out once more. "Oh, and make sure to stick a comb through that hair." His impossible eyes found me and I saw the tiger grin sliding back into place. "While you may be farm-bred, Fraulein, there is no reason to look like an animal."

Affronted by his words, my mouth dropped open in shock. But the man had already gone into his study, leaving me fuming on the foyer stairs with a puzzled housekeeper. She looked at me questioningly and then shook her head.

"Come now, dear, you don't want to annoy him any further," said Frau Schmidt with a gentle nudge towards the wing my bedroom was in.

I muttered something under my breath but she still heard me and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I know he can be difficult, Fraulein Maria, but he is the master of this house."

"He's not the master of me!" I retorted hotly before I remembered myself. "I'm sorry, Frau Schmidt, I don't mean to take it out on you. That was rude of me, forgive me?"

The older woman just smiled as we walked into my room, she headed for the bathroom and I heard the gush of water as she began to draw me a bath. Her voice floated out along with the steam and scent of rose.

"I forgive you," she said, "but you need to remember you are here under this roof. I don't think the Captain will approve of all the things you've been doing with the children. You've done a wonderful job but do be careful." She came into view with a large towel in her arms, which she handed to me with a smile. "We like you too much to have him let you go."

I smiled and gave the woman a nod. She was right. I needed to forget about me and focus on the children. It was what it was all about - this was God's plan. That I help those children connect with their overbearing father. And then there was Baroness Schraeder, the children would need to get to know her too! I needed to be patient and let God guide me.

* * *

It was a couple nights later that I found myself walking from the nursery to the room next door. This was the room Liesl and Louisa shared. The room was large, with two four posters beds - the canopies dropping low in shimmering white fabric. Louisa was asleep, tired from a day of foraging out on the small farm attached to one end of the property, but Liesl was awake. The girl was propped up in bed, a book resting on her knees. She smiled as I approached and placed a bookmark on her page before she invited me to sit on her bed.

The mattress was soft and I sunk into it as the girl edged a little closer, casting a glance at her sleeping sister.

"Oh, Fraulein Maria," said Liesl in a dramatic whisper, "I do wish I had a room of my own. I hate having to share with Louisa!" Her blue eyes narrowed briefly. "She snores."

I stifled a laugh. "Liesl, I'm sure when you are a little older your father will give you a room of your own. I suppose it just makes sense for you all to be together."

The girl sighed and slumped back into the pillow, her eyes focused on the book she'd been reading.

"But how I am supposed to have someone come sweep me off my feet in the middle of the night when I have a dragon snoring in the room with me?" said Liesl. "She'd scare them all off!"

I frowned and tried to think of something reasonable to say. I didn't know much about dealing with boys, and I knew Liesl certainly should not having anyone trying to 'sweep her off her feet' while she was under the roof of the Captain - he'd have a fit! And then he'd blame me.

"Hmm, I don't know if a gentleman would call upon a lady so indecently," I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about. "I think anyone that tries to come through your window certainly has no honourable intentions."

"That's what happens in stories though," argued Liesl in a low whisper. "The hero always steals into the girl's room at night to rescue her - it's so much more romantic." She sighed, lost somewhere in a world full of fantasy. "Don't you think so, Fraulein?"

This was something the Reverend Mother hadn't prepared me for, I didn't know how to talk about boys. I had no experience at all. There had been a few quick kisses in a town hall when I was young and that's it. Nothing that had made me see stars and feel invincible - or whatever it was that kisses were supposed to do. I figured it was something that people just wrote about, it wasn't real.

"Liesl, not everything you read in stories is true," I said gently. "Stories are just make believe. I'm sure someone will come around, don't you worry. And don't you sit around waiting for some prince charming to come through the window and slay the dragon for you." I cast a glance at Louisa who had her limbs splayed in all directions as she continued to snore away. "You don't need rescuing. You just be you and the right person will come along. Besides, you don't need kisses or midnight adventures to have a wonderful life."

"I know," said Liesl with a weary smile. "But kisses sure would be nice, Fraulein."

I smiled back at Liesl, and left her to dream. As I shut the door and turned to leave, I came across Frau Schmidt who beckoned me to her. She kept her voice low, as not to wake the sleeping children, and simple told me the Captain wished to see me. With a nod, I made my way down the long hall and towards the foyer, my shoes softly tapping across the rug that decorated the main staircase. There were barely any sounds at this time of night, it was so different to the hustle and bustle of the day. The sound of the housemaids on their evening shift were so much louder, I could hear the even tapping of their footsteps as they went about closing the house for the night. And there was the sound of the huge gate being pulled shut in the distance before the loud clang as it slid neatly into place. I walked over to one of the large windows that looked out onto the front drive and watched as Klaus and another groundsman lit a cigarette each, the ends flaring to life in the darkness like fireflies. They laughed and then headed down towards the garage, the burning ends of their cigarettes trailing dark coils of smoke. A moment later the intricate lamps that mounted the villa walls went off one by one until I could see nothing but the moon. It was only a crescent moon, but it carved itself across the dark sky like a smile. It was charming and captivating, yet it made me feel uneasy for some unknown reason.

I left the window and wandered down the left-hand side of the hall, my shoes echoing loudly as I went, until I came upon the door to the Captain's study. I knocked politely and stared at the cream paint of the door before I heard a gruff beckon to enter.

The study had surprised me when I first saw it, and I stood, just inside the door as I drank in the scene in front of me. The rest of the house was so light and airy, always full of fresh flowers and large windows - the panes thrown open to invite the outside world in. Not this room. The room was dark - the walls lined with deep, rich wooden shelves and the floor was covered in plush rugs, all such a deep emerald as if to be nearly black. My eyes trailed over leather armchairs that sat tall and proud by an ornate fireplace; model submarines that were scattered about the shelves with their little plaques; paintings - and here my eyes paused and absorbed in the details of half-naked women with their long hair as they reached out towards shipwrecked sailors. "Come to me," their eyes seemed to say. I felt my face flush and I hastily looked away from the alluring sea witches. I took a few steps more into the room, the door silently shutting behind me with ease, until my feet were on the deep rug.

The Captain hadn't even looked up from his desk. His head was bent and he was scribbling furiously over something, the pen the only sound in the room. I watched him for a moment. I hadn't really had the chance to look at him properly before. The lines of his brow were furrowed in a mixture of concentration and irritation. And he moved his hand with such speed and control it was slightly captivating to watch. My eyes trailed upwards then, to look at his face once more. He had a small scar just below his bottom lip, I saw, and I tilted my head a little to the side to get a better look. Had it been a battle scar? He didn't really look like a sea captain - just like I had thought the very first time I had seen him. Tall and proud (and very, very angry) in the ballroom door. But I could believe he had ordered many a man to do something and they had jumped, with haste, to obey. The man had a very commanding jawline, I decided.

My curiosity had kept me quiet but now I was growing restless and so I walked all the way over to his desk - my steps making no noise at all on the luxurious rug. All I had wanted to do was take my shoes off and just sink my toes in.

"Captain," I said, "you wanted to see me?"

The sound of the pen stopped and he grunted before he hastily scribbled some more, then did he finally lean back in his chair to look at me.

"Yes," he replied, tossing the pen aside and indicating with a wave of his hand towards a chair that sat in front of his desk. "I would like a report on how the children are going with their studies - I want you to do this every Wednesday and Friday evening once the children are in bed."

I nodded, eager to tell him about the children. To let him know how well they were doing. Ever since that day - the day he'd returned - the children had thrown themselves into their schoolwork unlike before. Wanting to prove to their father they were worthy of his attentions. Maybe they were scared he would suddenly change again - and I had to say, I didn't blame them. Their father had been nothing but a distant, unfeeling monster to them. A monster that hadn't cared if Gretl cut her finger, or if Friedrich had constructed a miniature sailboat all on his own. They had been either sent off to Frau Schmidt or haughtily dismissed.

"Would you care for something to drink, Fraulein?"

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard in my sea of thoughts. I coughed awkwardly and smiled, reminding myself to not judge the Captain.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. These words came to me easily and I let myself relax.

"Yes, please," I said, watching as he stood and moved towards a small bell pull that hung by the painting of the naked sea women. He gave a sharp tug and a moment later, the butler appeared at the door.

Once again I was transfixed by the painting, but now my eyes were on the sailor lost adrift in the violent sea. His eyes were intensely blue, begging with the women above to rescue him. I stood and drifted over towards it. I could see in the face of the sailor that he'd give the women anything for them to rescue him. I dragged my eyes away and my eyes found another painting, this one was a lot smaller. It depicted a man and woman entwined in a very intimate embrace - the kind of embrace that no respectable girl should know about. I should have looked away, but I couldn't. I'd never seen so much of a naked man before. What kind of decorated naval captain would have this on the wall for everyone to see?

My eyes were taking in the details, my feet taking me closer, as the Captain spoke to Franz, and then he was turning to me, asking what I'd want. I said something about tea - two sugars, a little milk - before I returned my attention back to the painting.

I do not know why it held my attention so easily. Oh, well I knew very well why it did, but I wasn't going to tell me that. I didn't think I could handle it.

"Fraulein?" came the rather sharp call, snapping me out of whatever tempting hell my thoughts had been occupying.

"Yes?" I said, feeling the blush start hot in my chest and spread upwards. There was the smirk, tugging at the Captain's lips, but he didn't say anything. He just gestured for me to sit down as Franz left the room with a quizzical look aimed at me.

Thankful for the small mercy, I hastily got back in my seat and began telling him about how each child had been doing. He barely interrupted, which had surprised me, and if he did it was usually just to ask questions. "How is Liesl going with her mathematics?" he'd ask, and proceed to tell me how she had struggled. "Does Brigitta need new books?" and "Is Marta more confident in her reading?". I hadn't expected him to know about half the things he asked - he had been absent for so long that I had assumed the man had no idea how his children were doing. I was relieved. Sometimes it felt that the interaction on the staircase had never happened. As if I had imagined the soft way in which he had spoken to me.

"I hear you've been taking my children to the mountains," he said smoothly as Franz came in with a cup of tea for me, "and they come home covered in mud and screeching at the top of their lungs about tea and jam."

"Children need to get outside in the fresh air," I replied, trying to keep my tone light and taking the teacup from the bored butler.

"Their governess should not be bringing them home covered in mud," said the Captain.

"I thought it only fitting for an animal," came the retort, my fingers gripping the fine china in my hands tightly. "I wouldn't know how one keeps so clean."

His features softened, making him appear a little younger. It was astounding how different the man looked when he wasn't sneering or smirking like a preening peacock.

"I apologise, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he said.

"No, you shouldn't have," I said, my defences still up. I didn't trust him at all. He was like wily snake. Any minute he was going to offer me an apple, I told myself. I took a sip of my tea, my eyes watching him over the rim of the teacup.

"And you shouldn't speak to me like that," he said, but he was smiling slightly. He found me amusing, I realised. How strange it was. "I have a feeling you won't stop though, and I can't deny the children seem to like you."

"All I did was take an interest in them, that's all they want," I said, relaxing a little. I took another sip of tea and add, "And to be loved."

He waved a hand. "Yes, I know. You've already yelled that all at me, Fraulein, thank you. I do not need you to repeat yourself."

I couldn't help the slight smile that pulled my lips at that, for he had given me a grin of his own. He was back to teasing me again and I couldn't deny how much I enjoyed it. It was like the gentle tease of an older sibling - at least I assumed it to be for I had no brothers or sisters of my own - but it was that easy camaraderie of good friends that had known each other a lifetime. My anger from the other day was now forgotten, which was typical of youth. To flitter from one emotion to the next. I left the Captain's study that night with a slight bounce in my step and I had no idea why. All we had done was speak of the children, a seemingly simple thing. Little did I know that it was a bridge, a very rickety bridge with a gurgling stream of unrelenting water below, but a bridge nonetheless. There would be times when I would stumble, be swayed side to side as I tried to cross it. There would even be times when it would tip and I'd be clinging on for my life, but those trials would pass and I would reach the other side. I didn't know what lay ahead of me, what was on the other side of this ravenous ravine but I wanted to cross it anyway.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you to everyone that reviewed the first chapter! Reviews are really appreciated - you have no idea - especially on something different like this. This is probably the longest chapter but I didn't want to split it up.

The conversation about fancy dresses and being farm bred is taken from Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier, I just altered it a little. And so is the tiger vs man thing.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It arrived the week after the little roadside incident. I had been out all day with the children, once more exploring the land attached to the villa. It had been exhilarating out there. If you walked down towards the lake and followed it past the glittering gazebo you would come across the stables. There were a few horses there, their hooves clattering as the stable hands took them out for their morning walk but you would keep walking. The path would then turn to dirt and then it would become a rough lane that twisted and turned through shrubbery, flowers spilling out and peppering the land with bursts of colour. The scent tickled the nose and the sun warmed the skin as the children collected flowers and inspected insects as went, bushes pulling at the skirts of my dress as we walked. The lane came to an end in a woodsy patch where it met the still lake. The water was like glass, it appeared to barely move. The hours had been lost in that wood. I can still hear the sound of the younger girls laughing as the boys skipped stones across the water while I lay on the grass, listening to the gentle water and the chirping of birds high above.

When we returned, sore and covered in dirt but full of tired glee, I headed straight for my room. I hadn't expected anything to be waiting for me. But there it was, the rather large but neat package; wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. I smiled to myself and stepped closer. There was a small note on top and I grabbed it greedily.

 _Fraulein Maria,  
_ _I hope you like your first fancy dress.  
_ _CvT_

My tired limbs forgotten, I smiled and held that small piece of paper in my hands. I read the words again, taking in the sight of those slanting letters forming my name on the paper in his hand. I put the note down and slowly unwrapped the box, the paper crinkling as I carefully pulled it away. Inside was a hat surrounded by soft tissue paper, and this was the loveliest hat I had ever laid eyes on. It was made of straw but the detail so fine it was hard to tell. The brim wasn't too large but wide enough that it would shield the sun from my face, and it was decorated with a blue patterned ribbon. My face suffused with heat when I pulled out the dress that had been neatly packaged underneath it. It was the same shade of blue as the ribbon on the hat. The material flowed through my hands like water as I let it unfold, it was beautiful and I held it up to my chest and spun around the room. I had never had such lovely things before, and I had never owned anything that either wasn't secondhand or made by my own hands. I could tell the Captain must have gotten this from one of the imposing boutiques in town that held many fine gowns and day dresses.

 _First_ , the note had said, _your first fancy dress_. There was not to be a second, nor a third, I had told myself. But I hadn't listened to those reasoning thoughts, I was too wrapped up in the idea of something new and how beautiful it was. And that the Baron von Trapp - Captain of the hearts of Austria - had bought it for me. I had never expected that his words last week had been genuine, that the man really would get me a dress. It had all seemed a joke - just him finding another way to tease me.

The next morning was Sunday - my day off - and I put the dress on carefully. It fitted like a glove and I couldn't help but glance at myself in the mirror. I was struck by how different it made me look, it moved with me and I could feel the gentle fabric caressing my skin. While the Captain had provided me with fabric to make myself some dresses, that had been relatively cheap fabric compared to this dress. It was the sort of fabric working clothes were made out of, strong fibres that were made to last. This blue dress was nothing like that, it had no purpose other than to be beautiful and luxurious. In a sudden flash I had taken it off and thrown one of my handmade dresses on. Not today, I told myself. I would save it for something special. It was not a dress to wear just to the abbey. Wearing my other dresses had caused enough eyebrow raising and unapproving tuts from Sister Berthe as it were.

I spent my morning reading in my room, Frau Schmidt had kindly brought my breakfast to me - a novelty that I knew would never wear off. The children tended to sleep in a little later on Sunday and so I enjoyed the peaceful morning in a different world. It was a guilty pleasure to escape into those pages and experience the lives of others. And there was the scent of the aging paper, the smooth texture of the pages comforting me as I continued to read on while I slowly sipped my tea. A little while later I heard the telltale bang of doors and grabbed the pressed gardenia I had been using as a bookmark, a gift from Gretl. I brought it to my nose before placing it back in, trying to capture the long lost scent but it was gone, swallowed by the pages that trapped it. I made my way down the hall, sending my cheery good morning to the children as I went by.

I was halfway down the staircase towards the front door when I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Captain coming down the stairs. I found my breath catch for no reason at all at the sight of him; he had a pair of driving gloves held in one hand and he carelessly slapped them again his palm as he came to a stop next to me.

"Did you not like the dress?" he asked, taking in my appearance and frowning.

My head had shook vehemently. "No!" I said, a little too eagerly. "I love it, it's just not the sort of thing to wear the abbey."

"I suppose," he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice. Had I been rude in not wearing his gift? I wondered.

I don't know why I felt the need to tell him but I found the words spilling from mouth, I told him about that day - the first Sunday off I had while at the villa. And how Sister Berthe had asked Hannah what she would do in regards to the children. I tried to keep my tone light and carefree as I spoke, trying to sound like it hadn't affected me. I added in a laugh when I said that the Captain would have much in common with Sister Berthe's opinions of me.

"So, I don't think Sister Berthe would approve of me in a fancy dress," I finished with a small shrug. "She can find enough fault in me as it is."

"I think you are making a big mistake," he said, moving to lean against the nearby handrail of the stairs

"In not listening to you?" I asked, my hackles already rising. They settled when he looked at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

"No," he said and I couldn't help but grin. The smile left his face, but I could still see it dancing in his eyes. "Not in that instance. I do not want to set a precedence for your outlandish behavior." The humour faded and he eyed me carefully. "I think you are making a mistake in becoming a nun."

My face was one of surprise and hurt. My mouth opened to protest but he spoke over me.

"You aren't made to be a nun," he went on. "You're too young, for one thing, and too outspoken. Hannah and Sister Berthe, that's nothing. I'm sure it's happened before and will happen again. You will either have to give in, and become a sort of Hannah yourself, or stay as you are and be broken." He seemed to think for a moment before he added, "Who suggested you become a nun in the first place?"

I blinked a few times, completely taken off guard by his words. He spoke easily, as if we were friends and he was simply asking me what I would like for lunch. Nobody had ever really questioned my vocation to be a nun before. Not the way he did, at any rate. My life had been devoid of anyone that truly cared what I did with it.

"How old are you?" he questioned, and when I told him he just laughed, though there was little humour in it. "I know that age, it's a particularly obstinate one, and a thousand demons won't make you fear the future. A pity we can't change over." He sighed and then pushed off the handrail. "Go and put your hat on at least, and I'll have the car brought round."

He strode off down the rest of the stairs and went through the front door. I just stood there on the stairs, my feelings all knotting together and making me feel off kilter as I watched Franz shut the door behind the Captain. I wanted to defend my vocation, I wanted to protest that he knew nothing about me. Certainly had no knowledge of things I was capable of doing.

However, there was one thing I grudgingly allowed him to be right about, and that was that the whole thing with Hannah and Sister Berthe wouldn't be the last time it happened. For he had made me feel as foolish as I had that day. As if because he was older than me, and had done so much, he should know what was better for me. Only I knew what was best for me, I told myself. With a shake of my head I hurried upstairs and grabbed my new hat, ramming it onto my head without ceremony before I rushed back down the stairs with a quick goodbye to the children as I went.

When I came down, I headed for the front door and Franz didn't move an inch. I'd seen him on multiple occasions open the door for people coming and going. But not for me. He did not make a single move to help as I approached, he just stood there and watched me as I struggled to pull open the heavy door and hurried through. I heard the loud slam as I went across the gravel. I am sure if I could have seen through the walls, he would have been glaring at the door and cursing my name six-ways to Sunday.

All thoughts of the butler left my head as I rushed towards the car parked in the middle of the circular drive. The Captain was already seated, and today I noticed he had the roof of the car down. I slowed my steps as I approached and opened the door before the engine flared to life and I was waving goodbye to the groundsman as we went through the gates.

The drive in was glorious, the sun shining as we flew through the countryside until the roads became neater and the fields became buildings. When he dropped me off at the abbey, I entered through the gates with a skip in my step, my head still thinking about the lovely dress hanging in my wardrobe back at the villa. I barely heard Sister Berthe's needling questions or Sister Margaretta's gentle concern for my health. They both seemed baffled by my sudden change in demeanor with regards to the Captain. I wasn't singing his praises, but I was telling them about his efforts with the children. There must have been something in my tone to cause the sisters to glance at each other, but I barely took notice of it. When they asked about the Baroness, whom I had mentioned was most likely to be the children's new mother, I had faltered. The children barely spoke to the Baroness. I left the abbey with promises to both myself and the Sisters that I would make an effort to help the children to connect with the Baroness.

I went down the narrow stairs by the back of the abbey, my shoes scuffing against the worn pavement as I walked. I came to a stop and leant against a nearby wall and waited for the Captain to come and collect me. I was staring at the clouds, watching them drift by when I heard the telltale rumble of the car. A smile pulled my lips at the sound and I watched the elegant car pull up and come to a stop. The Captain still had the roof down, and he nodded at me as he leant over and opened the passenger door for me.

He didn't say anything as I slid in, he just put the car back into gear and took off slowly down the narrow road. I had left my hat in the car, not wanting anyone in the abbey to see me wearing it, and so I put it back on. I hadn't cared that my short hair was sticking out in unattractive tufts underneath it. It fit me, unlike my hat the poor hadn't wanted, and so I leant back in the sun warmed leather seat and ignored the feeling that I was relieved to be going back to the villa.

As we left the city, the roads widening once more, the car roared to life. The wind whipped on by, making my sleeves billow around me. I had one hand holding the hat in place while the other clutched onto the ledge of the window. The smile on my face was unbreakable in that moment, and I watched, in a delirious daze, as the countryside hurtled past us. The mountains cut into the heavens, their white peaks brilliant against the blue of the sky. It looked just like the postcards they sold down by the cable-car station. But it was so much better than the postcards. For I could feel the crispness of those snow capped mountains in the wind, I could smell the wild flowers and hear the purring of the car as it sped along the road. This all managed to turn it all into this wonderfully magical moment that nobody could have possibly captured with a mere photograph.

I couldn't help the laugh that spilt from my lips as we passed by the radiant land that stretched away from us. It was my home, and all I had wanted to do in that moment was fling the door open and tumble into the lush wilderness of it all.

"Enjoying yourself?" came the deep voice from the driver's seat. I turned my beaming face to his, still grinning ear to ear like a fool. "I thought you were going to jump out for a moment."

I nodded eagerly. "I nearly did!" I twisted my head back to look at the mountains. "I just love the mountains so much."

"I prefer the sea," he said and I turned curiously back to him. He did not turn to face me, but kept his eyes on the road ahead of us.

"I've never seen the sea before," I said thoughtfully. "Only in those picture postcards they sell in town."

There was a small lull, just the sound of the engine and the rush of the wind on my face. Then he spoke, his voice low. Even with the rushing wind, I could still hear him. It was as though everything else just became background noise when he spoke, my ears simply refused not to listen to every single word he uttered.

He spoke of a naval port he'd been stationed in, and how when the sun set and met the sea it would give the whole land life. He told me of the sound of the ocean, and how the water would cling to your skin. And how even hours later you'd still be able to smell it. I could picture it all so easily: I could see the water, the deep blue sparkling in the sun as the waves broke on the shore. As he continued to speak, I lost myself in his words, wondering what it would have been like - what he would have been like, back when he was not much older I.

I tried to picture it, a young Captain, walking down the beach as the sun set. I could hear the waves crashing against the large shipyard, even feel the spray on my face, blown by the gentle breeze. He had said that ocean tasted of salt, it was sharp and strong, and I sat in the leather seat of the car and inhaled, trying to imagine such a thing. It would be akin to the crisp smell of first snowfall, like a sharp tang, I told myself, as I once more focused on the little vision in my head. The Captain continued to talk, and I listened and in my mind I saw it all. I saw the flurry of activity as men poured out of the ships and into the town. And he would follow, laughing with them, as they walked down the narrow cobbled lanes, passing by the terracotta roofed houses that were stacked together like children's building blocks. The sun would be warm on their necks as it began its descent down towards the horizon. And then once darkness had fallen, they'd all crowd into some little bar and fill it with the raucous noise and cheer that I knew nothing about.

I turned to look at him then, and I remember thinking how striking he looked. He had his hat tilted precariously to one side, and I idly wondered how it had not blown off his head. Which was such a silly thing to wonder about, but I knew I did this because my mind was constantly trying to make a point of how handsome his face looked. I shouldn't have noted the stubble that was growing back along his jaw. I wondered if the ocean spray had clung to it. Had the barmaids in those crowded little bars leant across the sticky counter and dared to find out? Or had he already been married then? I didn't dare ask. I was already hastily moving my eyes away to stare out the window, absolutely mortified that I had even thought of such a thing.

"Sorry," I heard him say, but I kept my head down and just looked at him sideways through my lashes. He leant back in the seat and gave me another one of those devilish grins. "I probably shouldn't talk about those things with a possible nun." He laughed, the sound vibrating through me before it was swept away by the hurtling wind.

"Why?" I asked. Whenever he mentioned my vocation to be a nun, he always seemed to inflect the word 'nun' as if to say 'idiot'. It was a little upsetting and entirely frustrating. "I'm not a nun yet - besides, I told you I used to work on a farm."

"Work? I thought you said you lived on one?"

"Oh, I did," I said, unable to help the way my voice shifted. I didn't like speaking of my aunt and uncle. "But I wouldn't call it living. It was work."

Either understanding how uncomfortable I was, or just choosing to ignore it, the Captain continued on.

"It's not really that," he said casually, as we whirred past a few other cars. "It's more your age and-" he lifted a hand off the steering wheel and gestured vaguely, "your _innocence_."

This was also said in the same tone as one might say 'idiot'.

"Captain," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. All thoughts of his handsome face were gone now. I had no desire to touch it - except maybe to slap it. "As I said, I worked on a farm, and I did go to college. I'm not completely obtuse - as you would believe." I let out a small laugh. "Did you think I was born at Nonnberg?"

The man blustered a little at this. "What? No."

"Well, I can assure you, Captain, that I know more than you give me credit for," I said, a smug smile pulling at my lips. Ha, I thought. "I've seen things - and I've read books."

"Have you, Fraulein?" he drawled - and it was a drawl. Each syllable rolled slowly off his tongue in a low purr. It was a completely different tone of voice. Richer, full of promise - what that promise was I had no idea. But I felt it ripple through me, just like the gentle rumbling of the car engine. Without permission my eyes flicked to watch his gloved hands maneuvre the steering wheel with ease, sliding against the leather of the wheel as we rounded a corner in a heartbeat. This caused a brief flash of those same hands to appear in my head, not gliding against the steering wheel but up the skin of my bare leg. The thought came hot and fast before it was gone and my brow creased in puzzlement at this strange sensation. I just mumbled something non-committal in response to the man before I returned my attention to the road.

Nothing more was said for the rest of the journey. I had no idea that I'd proved him right - that I was too naive - too innocent. My head was full of all kinds of romantic notions, maybe not as many as Liesl, and maybe not all concerning myself. I knew that sort of thing wasn't for me. But I enjoyed reading romantic stories, and how I did love a happy ending. The kind of debauchery he had been alluding to certainly would never, _ever_ , have crossed my mind.

When we finally reached the villa, we were still not speaking. I didn't know what exactly had happened for him to be as silent as me, but whatever was preoccupying his thoughts I didn't want to pry. And frankly, a part of me was scared to get an answer. My neck prickled and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked a little ahead. In my head, I was telling myself not to turn around, instead I tried reciting lines from the Psalms. Anything to distract myself. But it didn't work, instead I snuck a glance behind me and felt my mouth go dry. He was watching me avidly. Quickly I turned back around, not wanting to see the strange expression on his face. Had I done something wrong? I didn't think that I had. Before I could think on it any longer, he was walking past me, his long legs carrying him purposefully across the drive and up to the front steps. The door swung open, and the Captain thrust his hat and overcoat into Franz's hands. The butler completely ignoring me as I walked through.

I felt like I should have said something then, but I couldn't find the words. Luckily, I was saved from my own gaucherie when the Baroness came click-clacking across the marble tiles.

"Oh, Georg, darling, there you are," said the Baroness as she approached us both, a winning smile aimed at the Captain.

She peered curiously at me for a moment, her head tilted to the side, looking at me as if I was some interesting animal at the zoo. Then her gaze left me, dismissing me as nothing important, before she reached for the Captain with one gentle hand. It was the softest gesture, but it seemed to command so much - this is mine, it said.

"Hmm?" I heard the Captain say, and I looked at him then. His eyes were still on me, watching me with curiosity. But it wasn't the same curious look the Baroness had given me, nor the same intense one from outside. This was different. It made me feel like he could read my thoughts and I felt my face flush, my eyes darting away. The look vanished and then so did he, his footsteps echoing in sync with the Baroness, her laughter floating down the hall.

My little fancy of the afternoon was gone now, and as I stood in the middle of the empty foyer, I wondered how I could have imagined it all. Everything was so organised here, I would have sworn an oath declaring that every piece of furniture - even the pens and bits of frippery on the table stand - all had their own special place, and if I had moved anything, a moment later Franz would appear and place it exactly where it had been. How did I even manage to picture the kind of Captain in my head? One who drank in bars - probably sitting in the dark corners, just watching people. Then maybe, a gloved hand would extend out lazily and lightly touch some unsuspecting girl. And she'd turn, take one look at that face - at the grin - and she'd be lost to the sea captain.

I blew out a puff of air and shook my head. I was spending too much time with Liesl and her silly ideas about tragically romantic heroes. I had just been to the abbey and yet I felt like I needed to march myself right back and sit on one of the old hard wooden pews of the chapel and pray until tomorrow. With another sigh, I swiped the hat off of my head and walked up the stairs towards the nursery.

The children were sprawled around the room when I opened the door and I pushed the images that had been teasing me out of my mind. I felt at peace in that nursery. The cheerful wallpaper, the scent of warm cakes and the ever present smiles of the children that greeted me.

They had all crowded around me then, and I had found myself on the plush carpet as Liesl carefully brought the afternoon tea over onto the floor. It may have been my day off but I didn't care - I loved those children. Every minute spent with them had filled my heart and after being in the abbey, it was comforted even more so by their presence. Something I didn't question at the time, I was enjoying the moment too much. Not worrying about the future and how empty I would feel upon returning to the abbey, never to have my heart filled once more.

"We got puppets!" said Gretl, pulling on the sleeve of my dress.

Her pudgy hand pulled again at the sleeve in her excitement and at my question I was bombarded by seven different voices chiming in as they told me about their Uncle Max having a special little delivery arrive this morning. When I had questioned the children further and found where these puppets were now hidden away, their voices all faltered.

"Uncle Max said it would be okay," said Friedrich, though he didn't sound convinced. He cast a glance at Liesl before puffing out his chest. "But Father has been better. And well, Uncle Max said he'd sort it all out. Nobody can say no to Uncle Max!'

The children laughed then, a nervous laugh. Oh how I had wanted to tell them that everything would be fine. That their Father wasn't the same as before. It wouldn't have been a lie but it wasn't the whole truth. Captain von Trapp didn't order his children to march or breathe deeply, nor did he whistle at them like animals. But he was still reserved with them. Even in my youth I knew I could not expect him of so much so soon. He had been grieving for so long, suffering alone, that he didn't know how to talk to his children. Didn't know what to say to them. I had noticed this the other day, when he had dropped in briefly during a lesson. His posture had been rigid, his jaw set. He had been awkward and unsure, and while it had not been obvious, I had noticed it. Possibly it was because I had been spending a little more time with him - during those Wednesday and Friday evenings along with the Sunday morning drives to and from the abbey. I had seen him relaxed and at ease and was slowly learning those little tell tale signs of agitation and distress. It was like a secret language I didn't even know I could understand.

And that's when I opened my mouth and said, "Don't worry children, I'll talk to your father."

Little did I know that would be the end of everything for me.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you again to everyone who is following this and a big thank you to those that have reviewed. A few have mentioned their surprise at this being added too - and it was never my plan for this to be a longer story when I wrote the one-shot. But after I did it, I thought of some more (mostly the entirety of chapter two) and then kept going.

In all honesty I find Maria difficult to write sometimes, I find the Captain a lot easier. But this has been good for me, I think, and also because I can write her a little bit less "sugary" than she appears in the film. We know she gets angry, has trouble keeping her mouth shut and can act a fool. At the end of the day she's a young girl who has no idea what she is meant to be doing and I think that's something really interesting to explore - especially when she does become engaged to the Captain.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The puppets had been surprising. I had not been prepared for the size of them - I had expected small things with their own little stage. Not the large stage that I saw before me now. It sat there in the middle of the dark ballroom looking out of place amidst the covered furniture and dusty walls. There were several boxes left about, paper bursting from them and each one holding a delicate marionette, all lovingly handcrafted.

I stood at the door, my head just poking in. I had just come down stairs from putting the children to bed and they'd all asked me if I had spoken to their father. I had not. I hadn't even seen the Captain since we returned from the abbey. He had been absent at dinner, so had both his guests. Which wasn't unusual as there had been a few nights where the Captain had gone off for the evening. Right now I was trying to muster up the courage to speak with him. I twisted my head to glance at the study and could see the light spilling out underneath the door. I'd walked past earlier and heard the muffled sound of voices, and I had hesitated. Which was unlike me, normally I would have burst through without a care. However, the voices had been somewhat hushed, and there had been an urgency about them that I hadn't wanted to disturb.

The door to the Captain's study suddenly opened and I quickly shut the ballroom door and moved away from it like a guilty child. Herr Detweiler walked out, his back to me and spoke, "I'm just saying, Georg."

I couldn't hear the Captain's reply but I saw Herr Detweiler shake his head as he brought a hand to his head. The man then waved the hand irritably.

"You need to be careful," said the impresario, his voice more serious than I had ever heard it. I was curious and so I moved closer, my shoes tapping lightly against the tiles. Herr Detweiler turned at the sound of my footsteps and a look crossed his face, I couldn't quite place it - it was something akin to panicked surprise.

"Oh, hello, Fraulein Maria, I didn't see you there," he said, his voice a little louder than was necessary.

"Good evening, Herr Detweiler," I said with a small smile. "I'm here to see the Captain."

There was a short nod and a large smile sent my way before the man hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. I thought no more of it as I knocked on the door frame. I heard the low rumble from the Captain to enter, and so I let myself cross the threshold and enter the room. As I shut the door behind me, I took in the two empty tumblers on the small coffee table by the low burning fire. The Captain was lounging in a high backed chair as he smoked a dark cigarette. The tie around his neck was lose and his hair looked as if he'd been running his hands through it, and this thought managed to catch me off guard and my own hands twitched. A lock had fallen in his eyes and the urge to push it back had consumed all of my mind. I'd never seen him without his perfectly combed hair and neat jacket. The man took a long pull from the cigarette before he stood and threw the end into the burning fire. He reached for the bell pull and tugged it twice before letting the smoke escape. I watched as it curled and twisted away, the smell finding its way to me and filling my senses with its the heavy scent.

"Good evening," I said, watching as he seemed to prowl like a panther towards me before he sat down at his desk. He waved a hand in the direction of the chair in front of his desk.

"So I'm sure you've heard about these puppets by now, Fraulein," he said with a sigh.

"Yes, actually," I said quickly, taking my seat, "I wanted to speak with you about them. You see, the children are so excited and I thought it would be nice for them to have something to work on and maybe we - well the children - could put a little show on for you and the Baroness?"

I kept rambling on, desperate to say as much as I could before the inevitable command to be quiet came. But it didn't. The man just sat there, his hands steepled in front of his face as he watched me witter away like some unsuspecting bird. An eyebrow was quirked and I slowly faltered, my words trailing away as I saw the slight grin on his lips.

"Aren't you mad, Captain?" I asked, awkwardly shifting in my chair.

"Some people think I am, especially when I listen to Max Detweiler," he remarked and at my expression, he let a small chuckle escape. "But I know what you mean, and no I'm not angry. Not with you. And not with the children."

I had been prepared to argue, to battle with this man. I had been stealing myself all evening to talk to him. I deflated and sat there like a stunned rabbit a moment as he fixed me with his stare.

"Oh," I said, and then remembering my promise about the Baroness I added. "Well, also, I wanted to ask if you and the Baroness would join me and the children tomorrow? We were going to have a picnic."

"That's not really Elsa's sort of thing," said the Captain with a derisive snort. "Besides, there is some garden party she wishes to attend."

"Oh." This seemed to be all I was capable of saying. I kept thinking I had finally figured this man out only to be constantly surprised. And he seemed to clearly enjoy putting me off balance. It was as if he was completely aware of this bridge that separated us and constantly rocked it deliberately to see what whether I would stick it out or just concede defeat.

"I'm sure she can amuse herself for a day though," he said thoughtfully as Franz entered, bringing the usual cup of tea for me.

My eyebrows shot up at that as I took a tentative sip. "You'll come?"

"As strange as it may seem, I am their father."

"But won't you find it boring?"

"Boring? Do you know what I find boring, Fraulein?" he asked of me, leaning across the desk, his chin resting upon his still steepled hands. "I think parties are a complete bore - especially the ones Elsa drags me too. I don't want to drink champagne - it's all they ever damn well have - and I don't want to stand around gossiping like some old hen." He frowned at me, though there was no malice there. Just a curiosity. "Would you rather drink champagne or red wine, Fraulein?"

It was an odd question and my honest reply just blurted from lips. "I have never had either. I'm guessing communion wine doesn't count. I'm told champagne is bubbly and sweet and red wine is rich and vibrant. So I would think I would prefer the red."

My words had surprised him. "You do not like sweet things?" he asked, leaning a little closer.

"Of course I do," I replied, shifting in my chair. I was unknowingly leaning closer towards him over the large desk. We still had a distance between us but there was a shared closeness about it. It was like sharing secrets. "But you can't have sweet things all the time."

"No, you cannot," he said, his eyes on mine.

And that had been it. I left his study quite perplexed but oddly comforted. He didn't join us for our picnic the next day, he had been too busy with work. The children had been disappointed - which had been of no surprise. What had surprised me had been my own disappointment. And not because the children wanted to spend time with their father and I was sad for them, but because I selfishly wanted to spend time with him. Suddenly seeing him only three days a week was not enough. And I had found myself lingering for more time than was truly needed during those Wednesday and Friday meetings. It was such an odd feeling. The apprehension I would feel just before I knocked on the door on those nights, and then the warm flush that would suffuse my face when he smiled at me as I entered. It was like an addiction. An addiction I didn't recognise.

If I could see it all now, knowing what I know, it would have been so much easier. I would not have mistaken his kindness for pity, nor his flirtation for mocking. He had always been so guarded with me that my young self had been delightfully confused. She had not understood and in a way it had been a shield.

* * *

The next week passed quickly, the summer rains making the lush world that surrounded the villa fragrant and fresh. The children were kept busy as we practised our little performance with the puppets. The ballroom had been cleaned and the large stage properly lit. The room was alive now. Gone were the cobwebs and dust. The spiders had now crawled away and the chandeliers sparkled with renewed life. The room glowed and I had let myself carefully trace the intricate patterns on the wall, losing myself in my imagination.

On the night before the show, the dark clouds had rolled in and brought the thunder. The storm had passed after a while but I had found myself still in the small and somewhat cramped bed that Marta slept in. The rain was gently pattering against the window, making the moon foggy as I stared out with tired eyes. I was drifting in and out of sleep, I could practically feel the arms of Morpheus trying to coax me into his embrace. But I stubbornly refused. This was better than dreams, I thought. The reassuring weight of her small body tucked next to mine was safe and warm, accompanied with the light tapping of rain outside.

I shifted my weight and I felt Marta stir, her breathing ceasing to be gentle as her wide eyes found me.

"Don't go," she said, her voice thick with sleep.

I smiled and brought her closer. "I'm not going to go, you go back to sleep, darling."

She snuggled in closer, her little body curling against me like a cat. I made myself as comfortable as I could before whispering a soft goodnight. Her mumbled response made my heart stop.

"G'night, Mama."

Despite myself, I smiled. There was no denying how happy her little mumbled words had made me. I knew it was wrong. I was only the governess - number twelve, to be precise. I wasn't her mother. My heart sank and I felt the ache dwell in my chest. It was comical how much that mumbled sentence had meant to me. Marta probably hadn't even realised she'd said it, hadn't thought twice.

It had occurred to me before that Marta, and Gretl, would remember very little of their mother. They had both been so young when she passed that this woman was nothing but a ghost that haunted their memories - that haunted their father. I'd heard whispers about the previous Baroness, from the maids, the cook - even the groundsman Klaus. I had actually learned a fair bit about the Baroness von Trapp from Klaus. It was like seeing different parts of a puzzle, and in my head I was piecing them all together to create a picture of this woman now long gone. One afternoon while I had been watching the children play in the garden, I had spoken with the groundsman. The sun had been warm and I had been disturbed from my sleepy daze by sharp cutting sounds coming from behind a large hedge. I had been able to make out a gate situated within the dark foliage and I had stood, questioning the children as I moved towards it. Liesl had been the one to speak. She had said that they weren't allowed in there, that their father said it's not for children. And I heard the sharp edge in her voice, but curiosity had gotten the better of me and so I had told Liesl to watch the younger ones - their father had not said I wasn't allowed in there.

I had walked up to the gate, it had been as a work of art in itself; the iron framework twisting as it formed its pattern of flowers and leaves. I pushed on it and it swung open easily. I had expected a loud creak as rusted hinges swung but the only sound was the gentle swish as it rustled the grass below it. I followed the sharp sounds until I came across Klaus, he had a pair of gardening shears and was working his way through a large hedge, his brow dotted with sweat. I didn't know what flowers they were, but the neighbouring rose bush had reached out it's stems and had started to take over. The roses were large and such a deep red. I had watched as Klaus cut one of the twisted stems with a sharp snick before it dropped to the ground, the petals scattering across the grass like bursts of blood. The scent was strong and intoxicating, so sweet as if to be nearly sickly. I watched as he cut another rose, the petals blowing across the garden, discarded as if they were nothing. And I had asked, in that curious and well meaning voice, why these flowers weren't in the house. I had only seen cream roses inside - and they were beautiful - but there was something about these flowers that held my attention. They were just so large and inviting and I had gone to pick one and been quickly cut by sharp, unsuspecting thorns. The groundsman had smiled at me, though the smile had been a thin one, as he explained that this had been the Baroness's garden and that the Baron would have none of these flowers in the house after she died.

Baroness von Trapp had always been kind, Klaus had said, she always smiled. Especially with the children. The housing staff had loved her. She had been beautiful, smart, the perfect hostess. Klaus had spoken of her love for parties; the villa had been swarmed with guests during the summer and the Baroness had always had the ballroom decorated with these red roses. "Not anymore," Klaus had added, in a solemn voice as he cut another rose. The Captain had not only taken the roses away, but the ballroom, the music. Even the people had been hidden away. A lot of staff had been let go. It had been such a busy house but now it was quiet and empty, full of memories of this woman who lingered in every room. It was nothing but a skeleton crew working on an abandoned ship. Klaus had given me another little smile and politely told me to go back to the children, that he didn't want the Captain to find out I'd been in the garden.

I had left, carefully shutting the gate behind me. Though the scent of roses still filled my nose and I had tried to create a picture from my puzzle pieces of the late Baroness Von Trapp. She was not forgotten. She lingered; her smile, her beauty, her words. Even her garden continued to reach out of it's cage, desperate to not be forgotten.

I stayed with Marta a while until her breathing became slow and even. When I was certain she was sleeping soundly, I slipped from her bed and made my way down the quiet hall, passing a few maids as I went. The hush of the villa was soothing after a day of such noise and I let my mind wander back to Baroness von Trapp as I made my way down the large staircase.

My hand was on the handrail, my fingertips barely touching the glossy wood. I let myself move down the staircase, trying to imagine how she would move. I knew her steps would be light and easy, but they wouldn't be quick like mine were. She wouldn't hurry, she would never have reason to. Everything was hers and she'd smile serenely as she floated down the stairs. The paintings on the wall watched me as I moved, their gentle eyes and easy smiles following me as I went. Is this what she had done every evening? Did she finish tucking her darling children to bed, then float down the stairs and into the arms of a husband that loved her so much it nearly destroyed him?

I came to the last few steps and found the Captain there. He was standing in the middle of the grand foyer, a cup and saucer in one hand. There was no sound as his eyes found mine and burnt into me. I felt the ghost of the Baroness leave me then; her soul drifting away and back outside into the forbidden garden. Now, I was just me again. My posture slumped and the easy smile stretched into an awkward grin of pleasure at the sight of his handsome face. And it grew even more when I noticed the teacup he was holding was the one I used every night I was in his study. Had he gone to the kitchen and got me my tea himself? My heart fluttered.

"Hello," I said, taking the last few steps quickly. "The children are all in bed. Marta is fine now. The storm has passed."

He stared at me still. It was as if he were frozen, like time for him stood still and he was forever bound to that one spot. My grin faltered and my teeth sought my bottom lip under the intensity of his gaze. I didn't know what to make of his expression; his lips were slightly parted as if poised to ask me something and his eyes were open in slight wonder. I shifted on my feet under the strange intensity of his gaze.

"Captain?" I asked, slowly moving a few steps closer.

He shifted and suddenly the moment passed, it was as if a curtain had been drawn and I no longer could see something that previously had been revealed. With a quick apology he motioned for me to follow him. The conversation had been easy and comfortable in his study. The rain was still gently pattering against the window panes, and his low voice had lulled me back into a sleepy sense of comfort. I sat there, listening to him talk while I drank my tea. Occasionally he'd ask my opinion and I would gladly give it, so eager to please and see that mouth of his curve into a smile. How comfortable I had felt that night, no doubts had found me in that room. I had no cares, no concerns.

That couldn't be said of the next day. For that night I found myself outside in the cool summer air. In my head, I was replaying the night over and over on a constant loop. The puppet show had been a success. But I had not planned for the Captain. How stupid I had been to give him that guitar. I shouldn't have done it. For now I was not so sure footed.

The wind was cool on my face as I walked through the gardens. I didn't know where I was going, I had no destination in mind. I just needed to feel like I could breathe again. Because I hadn't been able to in there. No, not with him looking at me like that. He'd never looked at me that way before, I don't think anybody had. It had been similar to the moment I had found him at the bottom of the stairs, my teacup in hand. But this look had been different - there had been something else this time, and whatever it was I had felt it burn through me. It had felt like fire and I had not understood it at all.

I paused, a strong gust of wind blowing my dress about my legs as I stared off into the distance. It was so much quieter out here, it was soothing, but I still felt restless. So, I kept walking until I came upon the large gazebo; it's glass walls shimmering in the moonlight. I didn't enter though, I let myself sit down on a nearby stone bench - the stone was cool and my hands gripped the edge of it. I felt like I needed to hold onto something, something solid and real. Because I felt so strange, it was like I was hovering on the edge of delirium.

There was the sound of the lake drifting past and the whisper of the breeze through the grass. In my head there was no room for these gentle sounds of nature, all I had in my head was music. The guitar. And a voice. His voice. That rich baritone was echoing in my head, and before I knew it I was singing along too. My voice soft as it floated out and danced with the wind in the trees.

I am sure that I didn't realise what I was feeling back then. But I was not so obtuse; I knew that whatever that look had made me feel was wrong. That I hadn't been sent to the von Trapp children to have such thoughts about their father. It didn't stop me though. Ever since that night, my mind - my whole body - had become so attuned to him. And how I had sometimes wished that I had been someone else. In my dreams I had not been the governess. There had been no Baroness Schraeder. In my dreams he had finished singing and then left the guitar on the chair before coming towards me. And I had awoken in the middle of the night, feeling the shame of it all heavy in my chest, but still trying to cling onto those last few fragments of my dreams. Of his lips on my mine. Of his hands on my skin. Of his voice in my ear, saying my name. And in response, I had not called him Captain.

I remember one afternoon, about a week after the puppet show, while in the library teetering high on a ladder, I had heard Baroness Schraeder's voice floating through an open window. Her cultured words were perfectly crafted and accompanied by that gentle laugh reminiscent of champagne and cool evenings. I couldn't quite catch what she was saying but I could hear the occasional word, and one of them had been the Captain's name. She had said it so casually, as if the name belonged to her, that it made this strange urge rise within me. I wanted to say it. It was foolish, I knew. A silly little want. But I did want all the same. In my head I tried to conjure some silly fancy where I could just walk up to him and say his name, as if I had the right to. Just the way she spoke it.

I steeled myself, my eyes darting down both lengths of the high bookshelf, making sure that I was alone. My teeth had clamped down on my bottom lip in my adrenaline filled excitement. I paused, my mouth opening - the only sound my strange breathing and the distant tick of the clock. And I said it.

" _Georg."_

It came out in a halted whisper, and hung in front of me, the syllables seeming to echo in an unnatural fashion. I longed to grab it out of the air and shove it back in my mouth. But I couldn't take it back. And so I had done what I'd always done; I just ran. My stupidly long and awkward legs flailed down the ladder and rushed me out of the library. I shut the door, not sure what I was trying to achieve. Maybe I had thought that if I ran, I could leave the name hanging in the air with those old musty books and nobody would know. And that if I kept the door shut, it wouldn't escape. It couldn't follow me, my stupid impulse. With my hands on my face, I could feel the embarrassment well up and make my cheeks burn bright. And I was breathing hard, as if I had been running for miles.

"Oh, help…" I muttered, closing my eyes and trying to concentrate on not acting like an idiot.

"What are you doing?"

I swallowed and tried my best to act as if I hadn't just been pretending to be the woman standing in front of me. The Baroness raised an eyebrow, her gaze more probing than it had ever been before. I felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. Under her gaze I felt myself grow hot, the embarrassment rising up and coursing through me like an unrelenting fire.

"Oh, hello, Baroness Schraeder," I replied, trying to keep my tone even. "I was uh, just-just getting some books for the children."

There was a quick flick of her cool eyes as she took in my empty hands.

"Couldn't find what I was after," I added hurriedly, I offered her a smile. "I must go ask the Captain."

"Yes," she replied. "I suppose you must."

It was all she said and I remember holding my breath until the sound of her heels died away. My hands were on my cheeks, trying to hide the blush that was surely there. I remember wondering if she had any idea what I had been doing. The way she had looked at me had made me uncomfortable. Before I could collect myself or even think on it anymore, there was the Captain, his stride purposeful as he rounded the corner. He saw me and instantly a small smile graced his face. I felt the blush threaten to begin again.

"Ah, Fraulein," he said, walking up to me. "I need your help with something if you wouldn't mind?"

I didn't mind, I didn't mind at all.

"Oh? Anything I can do to help," I said eagerly.

His smile grew, although slightly sheepish. "Well, I realised I never got Marta a birthday present and I was hoping you could come in to town with me…?"

He left the question dangling in the air, just as I had left his name hanging in the library. It wasn't Sunday, it wasn't my day off and yet he had asked me to come with him. All thoughts of my interaction with the Baroness flew out of my mind as I nodded enthusiastically.

I remember feeling as if I was someone else that day, as I walked into shop after shop, trying to find the perfect present for Marta. We finally found it in a small couturier down a narrow cobbled alley. The woman that had helped had glanced at me curiously but a part from that she'd had eyes only for the Captain as she brought out piece after piece of clothing. He never once asked for a price, and it occurred to me that it wasn't something he would ever worry about. I let myself wander around the small boutique, trying to refrain from touching anything and failing miserably. There were rolls of fabric in neat little shelves, dressmaker mannequin with gorgeously crafted dresses on them that any little girl would have squealed with delight over. How I had wished that I had been wearing something else that day. I longed for my blue dress. The dress I was wearing itched - it was the one the poor hadn't wanted - but it had been a practical choice for the day I had spent with the children. I tried to make it look neater and in vain tried to make it look less ugly than it was. I saw it then, the small pink parasol covered with tiny little red bows, when I was flicking some grass off my skirt. I picked up the parasol and made my way back towards the Captain.

"This is what she would like," I had said, offering the parasol towards the Captain. He took it from my hands and for a brief moment, his hand had touched mine. My breath caught and I hastily moved away.

We left shortly after, the neat little package tucked under the Captain's arm. When we were walking down the alley once more, the cobbles under my feet, he stopped suddenly. His eyes were locked on a small cafe tucked into a corner between the alley we had come down and the main strip of shops. I watched for a moment, confusion knitting my brows, until he suddenly seemed to come back to life again.

"Lunch, Fraulein," he said. It wasn't a question, it was an order. And he was already walking into the little cafe before I had time to think any of it through.

I followed quickly before we were taken down the back of the cafe and into a little courtyard at the back. The sun was shining through but was slightly hindered by the many vines that wove their way across the exposed beams. The dappled light fell across us as we were seated at a little table, the spindly legs of the chair rocking a little as I took my seat.

The Captain ordered food while I sat there, trying to not feel so out of place in such an establishment.

"The children are very excited about the party, Captain," I said, trying to fill the silence. "Their new clothes arrived the other day - though I must say Liesl wasn't very happy with the amount of bows on hers. I'm sure it won't be a problem to alter it."

"What the devil for? Girls like bows and such," said the Captain as the waitress returned with a cup of coffee for him and tea for me. "That's what I told the couturier to make."

"But she isn't a little girl anymore, Captain," I said, taking the cup of tea. "She doesn't want to have the same dress as Marta or Gretl." I took a big gulp of the hot tea. "She wants to be treated like the young lady she is."

"She's still a child."

"But she isn't, she's nearly seventeen," I said, my voice bolder. "If you don't treat her like one you are going to have a mutiny on your hands." The Captain moved to speak but I continued on, "I'm sure soon you're going to hear about debutante balls soon and boys calling after her. She's not a girl anymore, Captain. And I think she should have a room of her own at least."

"Was it your idea to do this in public so I could not yell at you, Fraulein?" he asked.

"I had no idea you would ask me to lunch in town," I said, trying myself not to make a spectacle in public. I was aware of the other few patrons glancing at us every so often. Some did not look at me, their eyes were glued on the Captain. But some did, and I did not think very much of their curious looks.

"I did not ask you to lunch," he muttered, though it sounded like it was more aimed at himself than at me.

"No, you did not," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, "You ordered me to lunch."

It was then that the food arrived at the table. There were a few sandwiches, warm scones and even a few slices of strudel. It was more food than was needed and I felt my stomach rumble at the sight of it all. But I was determined to defy him for whatever stubborn reason I had concocted. I wouldn't be swayed by sweet tea and treats.

"Captain," I said as he began to eat, "I really think you should consider talking with Liesl and listening to what she has to say. She does so much for the other children."

The man waved a sandwich at me, "Can you please not attack me while I am trying to eat? I see that is every meal that you intend for me to suffer through indigestion, not merely dinner."

I scowled as he loaded a flaky scone with cream and jam. "Please, Captain," I said.

"Fraulein, can you please just eat and let me be for five minutes?"

"I'm not hungry," I protested over the sound of my stomach.

The man just grinned at me. I hated that grin. It was far too charming and altogether too knowing. It made me feel things I didn't understand. He finished off the last of his food before draining the remainder of his coffee.

"Fine," he said, leaning back in his chair as it creaked ever so slightly, "don't eat. You can starve then." He grinned at me again, and slowly pushed the plate of strudel towards me. "But I thought this was your favourite?"

I sat there for what felt like forever, but it would have merely been a few seconds before my stomach won the battle. I snatched the plate and stabbed at the pastry with my fork before shoving it into my mouth with as much undignified style as I could manage. He laughed at me then and simply nodded at me to finish before he tipped his hat over his eyes and laid his clasped hands over his chest. It was such a strange moment in my young life. I can recall that day so easily for so many things had changed for me on that summer afternoon, but I will always be able to recall the way that dappled light fell across him as he seemed to nap without a care while I finished shovelling strudel into my mouth - grateful that he couldn't see me. It was when I was halfway through the pastry, the taste of apple strong on my tongue, that I stared at his hands. His motoring gloves were on the table and I felt the traitorous thought come racing through my mind about his hands in those gloves. There were so many things I was noticing and I'd feel the knot of guilt later when I said my nightly prayers. But sitting in that courtyard I didn't let the guilt rear its head. I just kept thinking back to the other night and those hands coaxing soft notes from my guitar as he sung. I felt the shudder tingle down my spine and I hastily tore my gaze away and focused on finishing the pastry in front of me.

Before I knew it we were nearly back at the car. The warm sun was slowly fading now as a breeze began to pick up. Another summer storm was making its way towards us. My poor dress was thin and I had not donned my jacket before leaving, and so I shivered as the wind caressed me, like a cold hand in the middle of the night. I stamped my foot a little on the ground rubbed my arms. The wind picked up and craned my head to see the heavy clouds edging closer in the distance. I shuddered again and this was not lost on the man next to me as he too saw the sun disappearing behind a cloud.

"Here," said the Captain before shrugging out of his jacket. "I do not have time for sick governesses." I took it and slipped my arms through as I muttered a quick thanks.

The jacket was heavy and warm, and I remember it well for I was young and the wearing of his clothing was enough to brighten my afternoon. It was an intimate feeling that I had no acquaintance with, but one that I desperately wanted to feel forever. The warmth was reassuring but the smell was something else. I had never been so close to a man that I would know the scent of cologne or that rich inviting smell of just pure man. It was slightly intoxicating and I remember resisting the urge to turn my face into the collar and drown in it as I climbed into the car.

With the car in motion, we left the town and made our way back towards Aigen. Wrapped in the warmth of his jacket, I smiled and let my head loll against the headrest as I watched the world outside blur past us. The radio was playing softly and I turned my head towards the driver's seat, watching in a sort of sleepy daze as the Captain easily maneuvered the car into the rest of the traffic. The engine rumbled beneath me and I smiled to myself, lost in a secret little world of my own.

This day would come to an end, I thought, this moment would be lost. We would arrive back at the villa and I would give him back his coat before I returned to the children, this day locked forever in the past. My eyes had found the clock on the dash. I knew it didn't take long for us to get back to the villa, and I remember watching the hands steal this blissful moment away from me. As if the hands of time knew that it didn't belong to me, that my feelings were wrong and that I shouldn't have been so happy to sit in the silence of that car, not caring a whit whether the Captain spoke or not.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Salzburg disappearing and getting smaller as we sped along. The sun was still trying it's best to shine but I saw the clouds growing and stealthily stealing the warm day from us - just like the hands on the clock stealing time. I knew the day would be at an end soon.

"If only there could be an invention", I said suddenly, not realising I had spoken until it was too late, "that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when you wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again."

The Captain was silent and I stole a glance at him through my lashes. It felt like the moment went on an eternity.

"What particular moments in your young life do you wish uncorked?" he said finally, his gaze never leaving the road.

It was hard to tell from his voice whether he was teasing me or not. I could never quite figure him out.

"I'm not sure," I said slowly before I continued, foolishly rambling on, not thinking, "I'd like to keep this moment and never forget it."

There was a sharp shot of laughter from him, mocking me, before he asked, "Is that meant to be a compliment to the day or to my driving, Fraulein?"

The awkward silence returned as I kept my mouth closed - wishing this sudden urge to be quiet had come earlier. I was suddenly reminded of the great bridge between us and how his kindness to me made it sway.

I knew I would never tell Sister Berthe of this day or that the Captain drove me for my visits to the abbey. That he waited patiently for me at the foot of the stairs at 10 o'clock precisely every Sunday morning. I wasn't sure if she'd be angry or not with me, for wasting the Captain's precious time. But I knew with certainty that that pinched look on her face would appear and her eyebrows would raise in question as though she didn't quite believe that I was being truthful. She would surely sigh and say, in that no-nonsense voice of hers, "Maria, it's very kind of him to bring you here and take you back every week. However-" and here she would fix me with an exasperated look, "are you sure it does not bore him dreadfully?" And then she would go on to talk about his accomplishments and my many failings and why isn't he spending his time with this Baroness that I had mentioned.

And oh, I knew I would have opened my mouth then and said something I'd truly regret. I would have said that I didn't think the Captain spends much time with the Baroness. He seems bored. I wouldn't have enough time to think before Sister Berthe would have me kissing the floor. And sitting in that car, I instantly began to worry my hands in my lap and then fell to twisting the hem of my poor dress. The edges were frayed and the fabric rough in my hand, and I thought back to my little blue dress and it's soft fabric and once more yearned for it. It was beautiful and I knew I would treasure it until I took my vows, but I also knew it would be nothing compared to the multitudes of luxurious fabrics that filled the Baroness's wardrobe.

"I wish," I said, leaving all sane thought behind, suddenly consumed with the thought of the Baroness, "I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls."

"You would not be in this car with me if you were," said the Captain, "I certainly would not be driving you back and forth to Nonnberg Abbey for one thing." He glanced at me quickly and added, "And stop twisting your dress, you are going to ruin it and it's ugly enough already."

"You'll think me impertinent and rude I dare say - you probably already do," I went on, "but I would like to know why you drive me to and from the abbey week after week. And why did you ask me to come with you today? You are being kind, that's obvious, but why do you choose me for your charity?"

I remember sitting very still, my nails digging into my palms. I was so full of anger for no reason at all. The arrogance of youth was once again rearing its head and making a fool of me.

"I drive you," he said slowly as if the words were coming from far away, "because you are not dressed in black satin, with a string of pearls, nor are you thirty-six."

"It's all very well," I continued, "you know very little about me. Granted there isn't much to know and I haven't been alive for very long. And nothing very much has happened to me. I'm just the governess after all. But you, I know nothing more about you than the day we met."

"And what did you know then?" he asked as we went around a bend in the road.

"Well, the Reverend Mother told me you were a brave and fine man. That you had fought for our country and you'd been decorated by the Emperor. I knew that you had seven children and- and I knew that your wife had died several years ago."

There. I'd said it. I'd mentioned his wife.

Oh I how I wish I couldn't have taken it back. My careless words had ruined everything. I wished that he would have teased me, even yelled at me. It all would have been better than the heavy silence that engulfed us. I snuck another glance at him and his eyes were locked on the road ahead, his hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly. Was he thinking of his wife? I wondered.

Before I knew it, my mind's eyes was weaving a great tapestry for me to see. I saw the Captain standing amidst the stone statues and tombstones of the beautiful decrepit cemetery on the outskirts of town. It would be raining, the water pattering down in a fine mist as a fog rolled in and curled about his feet. The water would cling to him and slowly his perfect suit would become soaked and droplets of water would drip from his fingers. He would be as still as those statues that surrounded him like an ever present guard. All he would do is stare blankly at the tombstone in front of him, his eyes just barely able to make out the name of his wife which would have been freshly etched into the stone. Would he have flowers? I wondered. Yes, I told myself. A single red rose, I thought. Just like the ones in the forbidden garden. It would be clutched in one hand, tightly, his knuckles would be white. The man wouldn't even notice the thorns piercing his skin.

I blinked and the image faded. I remember staring at the road ahead as it went whizzing past, my palms feeling sticky in my lap as I continued to twist them. Any minute now he'd turn the car around back towards the abbey. He'd drop me off without a word and I'd be watched by the other nuns as Sister Berthe shuffled me hurriedly to see the Reverend Mother. I could hear my own voice, pleading with them both that I hadn't meant to be so careless. They'd shake their heads and send me back to the room that I had shared with Hannah and two other girls. "She's a headache," I'd hear Sister Berthe say as I left. Followed by, "she's just a girl," from the Reverend Mother. And how that would sting. Yes, just a silly girl.

I'd never see the children again. And I wouldn't ever see him again. Or maybe I would. Maybe on some sweet afternoon I'd climb a tree and slip over the convent wall. And I'd see him, the sun shining on his skin as he took the children into some large toy shop, the delighted shrieks of the little ones carrying across to me. And then, like a cloud across the sun, the Baroness would appear next to him and she'd kiss him on the cheek. I'd feel the lump in my throat and I'd move to hurriedly get back over the garden wall, but it would be too late. He'd see me and here my mind couldn't decide what was worse: him smiling at me or not recognising me at all.

I was so lost in the reeling daydream that I didn't notice that the car was slowing down. We had been flying along the road - the same road that the Captain had come hurtling down weeks before and splattered me with mud - and it wasn't until the car had come to a complete stop did my eyes focus back onto the present. I tried to refrain from fidgeting in my seat for he was so still - just like he had been in my image of him within the cemetery. He had removed his sunglasses and was looking too large and far too imposing in the cheerful landscape that surrounded us. I remember feeling frightened for the first time. Not of what he would say, but that I had suddenly brought this monstrous creature back. The one that the children feared. He didn't look the father of seven children, and he still looked nothing like a sea captain. Without his jacket he looked different, no longer so buttoned up and restrained. I could see the muscles move under his white shirt. He should've been standing on the balcony of a high turret in a castle somewhere, surveying all that was beneath him while dark clouds rolled in.

I knew nothing of this man, I realised. And I wondered how I had ever come to sit in this car with this sea Captain, his jacket about my shoulders.

He finally turned to me, his blue eyes dark and I tried to keep my emotions in check.

"You spoke of an invention," he said, his voice once more seeming to come from far away, "some scheme for capturing a memory. You would like, you told me, at a chosen moment to live the past again. I'm afraid, I think rather differently from you. All memories are bitter and I prefer to ignore them. Something happened to me that altered my whole life, and I want to forget every phase in my existence up until that time. Those days are finished. They are blotted out. I must begin living all over again."

I was quiet as he spoke. My lazy day was gone now, as if the storm that was slowly edging closer outside had somehow managed to make its way into this car. My throat was dry and I swallowed hard as he continued to speak.

"The first day we met, you were in that damn ballroom and you questioned everything I did. You probably wonder why I did the things I did - you probably still do. It put a stopper on those memories you would like to resurrect. It does not always work, of course, sometimes the scent is too strong for the bottle and too strong for me."

I felt frozen. I wanted to speak but I couldn't find the words. The Captain let out an angry breath and his eyes continued to hold mine relentlessly.

"Damn your puritanical little tight-lipped speech to me," he said. "Damn your idea of my kindness and my charity. You are not just the governess." He gave another sigh and tore his eyes away from mine, as if to seek guidance from the world outside. My hands continued to twist in my lap as he turned back to face me. "I ask you to come with me because I want your company, and if you don't believe me you can leave the car now and walk back home. Go on, open the door, and get out."

Did he mean it? I didn't know so I sat still. I was so unsure and confused. He had been angry with me before but this had felt different. Something I couldn't put my finger on. We weren't the same people we had been this morning - we weren't even the same people that gone and bought Marta her belated birthday present. The jacket that had been so warm and reassuring before was now heavy and suffocating. The radio was too loud and the Captain's face too harsh.

"Well," he said, "what are you going to do about it?"

"I want to go back to the children," I managed to say. I was normally one to get angry rather than get upset but his words had hurt me, and yet, he had wanted to spend time with me. Despite my wounded pride, I had found some comfort in that. Still, I had wanted to cry and I had felt the tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I turned my face away from the driver's seat and managed to catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My face had been pale except for the blotchy red spots high on my cheeks. I looked all the world like a silly child.

The Captain said nothing to me, he just brought the car back to life and we were once more speeding down the road. My sunny day was gone now and for the first time I urged the clock on the dash to hurry up. I wanted out of the car and away from the sea Captain.

* * *

 **A/N** Oops. This suddenly became very long. It was much shorter but then I thought of more and well, here we are.

I just want to reiterate that if you think something sounds marvellously clever, it was probably something from Rebecca and not my own devising. Especially those that haven't seen/read it, I don't want you to think I made all this up. A lot of dialogue has been taken and I have just altered it slightly to make it fit. I do wish I was creative enough to think of the whole bottled memory part though.

This chapter kind of jumps a lot so I hope it makes sense. I'm not going to really be "showing" scenes from the movie as we know how they go so sorry for those that thought I would be describing the puppet show! And I think I've described those scenes enough at this point anyway.

Also, I apologise if this has many errors. I've been a bit under the weather and written some of this while a bit doolally on cold n flu medication so I may come back and fix it at a later date.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

There is always something so inherently beautiful when one reads about melancholic heroines in fiction. Their sadness is somehow poetic, their tears elegant as they trace the contours of soft cheeks as rosy lips tremble. These fictitious women were never out of place, not even in their anguish. But not I. I sat there in that car with my new hat and old dress feeling entirely out of place. My adolescent misery was now a solid companion, pushing the tears I had felt pricking earlier and compressing my chest with its invisible hands, making me feel alone and so small. I stubbornly refused to wipe my tears away, the taste of them bitter on my lips as I let them fall. I had my head turned to stare blurry-eyed out the window. I remember feeling angry that I had cried, that it was so typical of me to lose my composure and the sudden flare of hot rage had boiled within me then; how dare he be so composed. Only his voice and the vice-like grip of hands on the wheel betrayed the Captain.

I tried to distract myself. Tried not to let my emotions get the better of me. I tried to pray, but it felt wrong; I had taken such pleasure in this day, in his company and the wearing of his jacket, and now I was paying the price for silliness. I had squeezed my hands together in a sorry attempt at prayer as well as an effort to collect myself. But my palms were sticky, and all I could taste was my tears and my head was full of the scent of the Captain's cologne that laid heavy on the jacket. I swallowed hard and once more resumed my monotonous stare out the window. There was no reason for me to ask God for forgiveness, I did not deserve it, but I wanted it. But not as much as I wanted the man next to me to talk to me. To laugh. To even give me that stupid grin that both annoyed and delighted me.

I felt something land in my lap, and my eyes hastily darted away from the darkening countryside to look at the handkerchief in my lap. Throwing my pride out the window, I took it and carefully wiped the tear trails from my face. Who cares what I look like, I remember thinking. None of it mattered. I was just the governess, no matter his contrary words. It was then that I looked down at the handkerchief in my hand. It was the Captain's own; I saw the initials embroidered in the corner in neat little navy stitches. Then my eyes caught the words embroidered in the opposite corner.

 _Georg, take care, Agathe_

My vision blurred as my traitorous tears returned, one managing to escape and drop down onto the curly G that had been so carefully stitched. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"To hell with this," came the sudden utterance from the Captain, and while I had been caught off guard by his words, I was even more shocked when he took my hand in his.

The leather of his glove was soft, and I could feel the warmth emanating from the skin underneath them. He did not look at me, his eyes were fixed on the road ahead, his other hand still on the steering wheel. And it felt as if he urged the car to move even faster than before, swerving around corners and past other cars with a sort of fervent madness.

"I suppose you are young enough to be my daughter, and you are far too impossible, and I don't know how to deal with you," he said. His hand squeezed mine, his fingers interlacing with my own. "You can forget all I said to you this morning," he went on, still staring straight ahead, "that's all finished and done with. Don't let's ever think of it again, Maria."

Maria.

How simple a thing it was. Just a name. A name said by others countless times. But he had said it, and I didn't think I could recall him ever speaking my name before. It was always "Fraulein". There had been the little note left with my blue dress, and I could still picture the way those slanting letters had formed my name. But still, always there like a shadow was "Fraulein". But formality had left us now, there was no room for "yes, sir" and "no, sir" in this car, at this time. My cheeks instantly warmed, and for some reason I couldn't quite identify, I felt the urge to cry begin anew. This day had been a wild adventure, not knowing what to expect next. But I felt that something had passed between us, an understanding of sorts. That I somehow had managed to cross this bridge between us.

The road became rougher as we neared the villa, the car bumping along as we came down the dusty road. His hand still held mine and I remember trying to limit my breathing out of fear that if I moved too much, he would remember himself and withdraw it. But he didn't, he turned to face me as the car ambled to a slower pace, the villa in sight. He smiled at me and took my hat off with his free hand as we came to pause outside the villa gates, tossing it into the back seat. I saw my reflection in the car mirror, my eyes bright and nose pink with my hair sticking out in a fluffy mess. His hand withdrew from mine then before he swept it across my fringe, an odd smile on his face.

"Promise me you'll never wear black satin," he said as the villa gates opened and we passed through, Klaus nodding to us both as passed.

I smiled, suddenly nervously excited, and he laughed. It was such a warm sound, rich and low and I hadn't been able to help the laugh that spilt too readily from my lips. Despite the looming clouds, my day was bright once more. The jacket I wore was a comfort, the radio was a soft sonance that lulled me into its embrace, and his face was once more handsome and charming. The Baroness didn't matter, I did not think of her and all her exquisite dresses. Or of her perfectly crafted words and imposing manner. For I had felt his hand in mine while his jacket kept me warm. I felt an equal no matter the small voice nagging at me for being so arrogant as to think I was anywhere near his station. The simple gesture of his hand holding mine was enough to make me forget his harsh words and the darkness that had been evident in those blue eyes.

All those worries of how the Sisters would think of me and judge me if they were to know about my drives with the Captain were a thing of the past. I didn't care any longer what they thought. I was too enthralled with him and what he thought. And how now I look back and cringe at the way I had acted. Too young and naive to know any better. Too bewitched by a smile. But it would go on, there would be more smiles and more soft gestures that would make me giddy. I would not notice the way Baroness Schraeder watched me anytime I was in the room with her and the Captain. And that day we returned, walking side by side, I did not see the curtains twitch in one of the windows. I was completely unaware that someone had seen me return the Captain's jacket to him before the door to the villa opened. That this person had seen my awkward gestures of gratitude and had scowled as we laughed again. Later that evening I did not see the glances Herr Detweiler gave the Captain, had no clue about the warning words said behind the study door. The whispered conversations were never to make it to my ears. I did not have time for them and nor did I think of them. For I was too busy with the children. I had dresses to mend and a song to practice. I had fights to break up and bruises to kiss. The day of the party drew nearer until I suddenly found myself in a room full of people I didn't know, gently ushering the children around to meet their father's distinguished guests.

Frau Schmidt had been kind enough to lend me a dress and I had spent longer than I should have watching the skirts twirl in the mirror of my room. My hands held tightly onto the skirts of it as I stood with the children watching the guests who were pouring in, the doors open wide as they entered in pairs or groups of three. Franz was standing there, still as a statue, as they came past. I could see out in the circular drive and watched a few horses come to a stop before a woman in a brilliant emerald dress spilt out of the carriage. It was like being in a dream, watching the women come in, escorted by men in their finely tailored suits. Some had medals and braids of gold upon their shoulders but they all paled in comparison to the Captain. My breath had caught when I'd seen him only an hour before the guests arrived. The children had been finishing eating their dinner when I left to help Frau Schmidt with some last minute details after hastily eating my own. I had been nervous. Not sure what to expect and feeling so out of my depth. That had been forgotten when I saw him. I'm sure my mouth would have been hanging open as I stared so obviously. The suit was dark and his brilliant medals stood out against it, shining brightly under the chandeliers. The Maria Thersien Cross he had looped around his neck was so red, and I was instantly reminded of the roses in the forbidden garden.

I had been standing by the ballroom door, watching the orchestra tune their instruments as a maid finished arranging a vase of flowers. There was a call from the conductor and I saw the pianist I had been watching pause before grinning at a nearby colleague and hurrying off to grab a quick supper before the evening began. It was so strange seeing the ballroom like that; all those instruments just waiting to be coaxed into playing beautiful melodies, the grand chandeliers sparkling and waiting for their light to fall on the exquisite ball gowns that would be twirling beneath them. I inched a little closer and went to walk in when I felt someone grab my hand. I had turned and found him there, and I had become frozen. Completely captivated by the figure in front of me with his dark suit and burning eyes. His medals proudly adorned. The memory of him holding my hand the other afternoon had come to mind. But this was not the same. It wasn't the same gesture of comfort. At least not for me. For he wore no gloves this time and so I could feel his skin against mine so acutely that all other thoughts were drowned out. His hand was so much larger than mine, his skin rougher - so different from the feeling of his leather driving gloves.

The skin of my hand had tingled, the feeling spreading up my arm in a pleasurable rush before it settled in my heart. A myriad of emotions were flooding my senses, and I was scared to leave my hand where it was and also to draw it away. I wanted it to end but also wanted the moment to last forever. I didn't want to forget the feeling of that hand gently holding mine. Before I had the chance to scold myself for my impossible thoughts, the hand was gone and I was left with nothing but the fading feeling until it too vanished. The memory remained, though. And I could trick myself into feeling the ghost of his hand still clasping mine. I suddenly felt empty, bereft. As if that hand had become my anchor and now I was drifting aimlessly.

It wasn't the first time I had had such inappropriate thoughts. I had spent one night on my knees in prayer, begging for forgiveness. It had been the night we had returned from town. And I replayed his gentle touch as he moved my hair out of my face and relived the feel of his hand holding mine so tightly. I had squeezed my hands so tightly that night, my knees had been aching when I had finished my Hail Mary's. I had not known that the man I had coveted so innocently was thinking of me. I had thought he wouldn't have given me a second thought. It wouldn't have registered to him how much his simple gestures had affected me.

But I had been wrong.

He would tell me, not long after we were married, about how he had struggled to not touch me. Even the simplest of gestures. How he hadn't been able to help himself: he would deliberately walk too close and cause his arm to brush against mine, he'd pass me something and make sure our fingers met so our skin could touch. It had made me giddy with excitement when he'd confessed this to me. My cheeks had burned red and I'd chew on my lip, but I'd stare at him wide eyed and eagerly ask to be told more. Tell me you love me, is what my eyes had said, tell me and show me. And then he would.

But I had no idea back then, I would never have even entertained the idea that Captain von Trapp would have any interest in me. All I had done was push the feelings aside, believing it to be a test of strength from the Lord.

I felt my hands begin to sweat and I let one hand hold onto the door frame. I instantly mumbled something inane about how pretty the ballroom looked, pretty being such a poor choice of words but my words had failed me as soon as I had seen him.

"Remember, you are allowed to dance in the ballroom this time," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. I smiled awkwardly, remembering that first day and how far we had come.

"I don't think anyone will be dancing with me, Captain," I replied.

"It didn't stop you last time," he said.

I frowned. "Well, it was empty last time, I don't think all your friends would be pleased if I started dancing by myself in the middle of the ballroom."

"I suppose not," he said, his tone one of mock thoughtfulness. "They might think you quite mad."

I smiled, enjoying his teasing words. I found it so much easier when he was joking with me. It was safer. "And by extension, you would be thought of as even madder for hiring me," I said, sticking my chin out.

"I will definitely make sure you do not appear mad, Fraulein," he replied with a strange timbre to his voice that both intrigued me and made me nervous.

I laughed it off. "I won't be dancing, Captain. I will be looking after your children. Which I should get back to now."

Leaving him had been easy, I suddenly felt like once more I couldn't breathe. And now, several hours later, I was feeling the same. I hadn't thought I would have been dancing, I took his words for the kind gentle tease of a friend. For I thought we were friends, in our own strange way. Ever since that day in town I felt like something had shifted, an understanding of sorts. Now, I was confused and my cheeks were still flushed. For the third time, I had had his hand in mine. I could again feel his soft but firm grasp, could hear the gentle swish of my dress as our feet had moved across the stones out in the courtyard. It had felt like a dream.

The breeze from my window managed to whisper across my shoulders and I shivered.

"You can go and change, we'll wait," he had said with cool indifference and a wave of his hand.

That same hand that held me so close not moments before. I had been able to make out every line in his face, I had even been able to feel the beat of his heart as if it was reaching out for my own. We had been so close and yet now I felt like we further apart than ever before. I didn't want to go back downstairs, I wanted to stay up here in my room where it was quiet and calm, with no sea captain and his impossible ways.

There was a knock at the door and I had been surprised to see Baroness Schraeder walk in. I immediately felt myself flush again but I tried to collect myself. She spoke, in those crisp tones she always used, about helping me. I had not expected her to offer such a thing and I had told her I had nothing suitable to wear. What would I wear to such a party? All my dresses paled in comparison to her dress with its shimmering fabric. And I had no long locks of hair to twist upon my head. At this, I tried to wipe my fringe across my face, feeling awkward in her presence. I had never been alone with her before.

Before I knew it, she was walking towards my wardrobe and pulling my blue dress out. And she was speaking, saying words I didn't want to understand, couldn't dare to comprehend. I didn't want to listen to her, my little world had been shattered. I had been so stupid, to think the Captain had been my friend. I had built him into something marvellous, and I had taken such joy in the way he had looked at me. The Baroness said that I loved him and I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I couldn't say no and yet I couldn't say yes. Both felt wrong, the words unable to form in my throat.

"In love with him?" was all I had managed to say. My voice barely more than a whisper.

"Of course," said the Baroness with a wave of her hand. "What makes it so nice is he thinks he's in love with you. "

"But that's not true," I said. How could it be true? The Captain was marrying the Baroness, wasn't he? Wasn't what all of this was for?

I had heard the maids whisper, and after everything Frau Schmidt had told me, I had known this was always going to be how this particular story ended. My little heart hadn't been able to believe it though, for I had seen the Captain with the Baroness. There had always been a falseness about their interactions. Whenever he had called her "darling" it had sounded so hollow and artificial, like a bad theatre actor trying to convince an audience. I had all but forgotten about Frau Schmidt's words to me that first day.

I stepped back and leaned against the window sill, unable to hold myself up any longer. The window was still open and the cool breeze tickled at my back. The Baroness moved closer towards me, her hands clasped together. It was as if I were some small animal she was trying to coax into her confidence.

"Surely you've noticed the way he looks into your eyes," she said, her lips twitching. "And you know, you blushed in his arms when you were dancing just now. Don't take it to heart. He'll get over it soon enough, I think. Men do, you know." I swallowed hard. She looked at me and all I saw was the pity in her eyes. She was trying to help me, I thought, save me from this big bad man and his wicked ways.

"He probably can't help it, seeing you with the children. He must be reminded of her. Of course, you are nothing like her." She stared off for a moment and then her eyes landed on me once more. "We were good friends, you know."

The Baroness did not need to say who she meant by "her". I knew. We both knew there was no need for an explanation.

"Yes. Quite good friends," she went on, smiling oddly at me, "She was much taller than you, but still so small. And she had such lovely hair. It was blonde too, not quite as cool as mine yet not as warm as yours." Another smile, unnerving in its insincerity. "He'll get over it," she repeated.

The Baroness moved even closer towards me then and both my hands reached back to hold onto the sill. I could smell her perfume, it was too sweet and seemed to crawl up my nose and infect my brain. For a brief moment her face was too pale, her eyebrows too harsh and her painted red lips looked like an angry slash. Gone was the beautiful woman I had so envied. I could even make out the outline of her skull, making her appear unnatural and otherworldly. I blinked and then the expressions vanished, that pitying look once more gracing her features. I needed to leave.

"Then I should go," I managed to say, taking a step forward. Trying to act far braver than I felt. "I mustn't stay here."

A queer expression crossed her face, it wasn't the unnatural one of before but it made me feel even more uneasy. Looking back on it now I know that it was smug satisfaction; that she was so pleased that I was leaving. "Is there something I can do to help?" she said, her voice overly kind.

I shook my head, not wanting her with me any longer. "No, nothing," I said, moving away from the sill and grabbing at my clothes hurriedly. I reached for the carpetbag I had thrown under my bed, the latch so stiff that it creaked when I finally got it to open. There was nothing this woman could do for me except- "Yes. Don't say a word to the Captain."

That same queer expression appeared again, triumph lit up her eyes and pulled like the devil at her painted lips. "No, I wouldn't dream of it," she said before moving for the door. I sighed with relief but then she paused again, her dress rustling as she turned to face me with a brittle smile. "Goodbye, Maria," she said, "I'm sure you'll make a very fine nun."

When the sound of her footsteps had died away, I had slowly moved about the room, picking up my few possessions before changing into the hated dress. I hadn't been able to touch the blue dress. I had left it hanging in the wardrobe. It was tainted now and I knew I could never look at it and not think of the Captain, of his eyes on me or his voice singing softly. I felt the tears threaten but I took a deep breath, refusing to let the sadness take me into its arms. I had to get out, I needed fresh air. What was it the Captain had said to me?

 _"I must begin living all over again."_

Yes. That is what I needed to do. I had lost my way. I needed the safe walls of the abbey. With a renewed sense of purpose, I wrote a quick note and grabbed my bag and guitar before slipping out of the room and down the stairs. The grand foyer was empty but I could hear the sounds of waltz playing. I left the note on one of the little tables, resting it against a bloom of cream roses before I took one last look and departed into the night.

The faint notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D wafted out of the ballroom and floated out along the terrace; they danced their way across the gravel until the melody managed to tap me gently on the shoulder, trying in vain to coax me into turning around. Those joyous notes were the antithesis to my own thoughts. I felt like I could even hear the sound of his deep voice, chuckling along to some joke - probably told by the Baroness - amidst the haunting notes of the music. It was probably all in my own head, for my feet were nearly across the gravel drive and my hands, unsteady and shaking, were adjusting their grip on my guitar and carpetbag before I stepped out onto the street. There was nothing except a few empty cars, sleek and menacing in the darkness.

I twisted my head around to glance back at the villa, my eyes taking in the warm lights that spilt out from the windows. My ears strained to hear the mixture of sounds emitting from the party I'd just left. But I didn't need to, in my head I could hear it all; the swish of long ball gowns against the marbled floor accompanied by the resounding click of heels, and the never-ending stream of conversation that was often punctuated by a laugh before the overlapping gossip swallowed all sounds once more.

Those merry sounds were a jarring contrast to the emptiness I felt inside and I took a steadying breath. With one last look, I turned my head away and blinking against the sudden darkness of the road ahead, I struggled on down the street. All the sounds were muted now, as I made my way down the deserted road. The music was slowly dwindling, the bright lights with it. I was fortunate that the moon was bright for there was little light along these roads. The last time I had been on this road I had been so happy, buoyed up by the presence of the man that I had just danced with.

That was nothing but a memory now. And then, I had wished so hard that the moment had never ended, that I could have captured it in a bottle - like scent - so I could uncork it and relive the moment all over again. How foolish I'd been. Now, seeing the memory like a film across my inner eye, it didn't make me happy. I'd uncorked the memory, but it wasn't fresh. It was stale. The happiness was nothing but taunting, my own laughter shrill as the memory of it echoed in my head. And him, laughing with me, sounded hollow and lifeless. He was just humouring me. Being kind to the orphan girl who wanted to be a nun. Why, I asked myself, why did he dance with me? The voice of reason said it was because he wanted to show Kurt how to dance correctly. Another voice, dark and red, said it was because he wanted to. I ignored that voice, pushing it back.

I remember how much I had wished that I could have gone back in time, that I could have said no and not taken that gloved hand. What a fool I had made of myself. But I knew that even if I did have the chance to do it all over again, I still would have taken that hand. It was a memory I knew I would replay over in my head for the rest of my life, and little by little it would be improved upon until I had spun it into a big enough fancy that it would console the way my heart felt now. Scattered and broken, lost, without a guiding beacon.

My feet were tired and my arms heavy by the time I reached the abbey gates. My cold hands floundered with the large bell, until I gained enough strength to pull, the dull jingle ringing through the night.

As I waited for the gate to be opened, I couldn't help but reminisce about how I felt when I left here two months ago. Then, all I had thought was that I would get through the summer, return to Nonnberg and everything would continue as it had. It would be like I never left. But no, I was not that Maria anymore. The Maria that had left was a different person, she was not me and I was not her - not anymore. I had returned, but everything had changed.

I could even see a vision of myself, dressed as I was right now, leaving the convent on that bright summer day. And I wished that I could reach out and touch her arm, warn her, tell her to be careful. Tell her to not ever look too deeply into those eyes, to not listen so attentively to that voice. You are nothing but a ship passing by, I wanted to say, you are not staying there, you are just a visitor. You do not belong, so do not trick yourself into thinking that you do. For it will break you, as it has broken me.

It wasn't long before I found myself alone in a quiet cell. I had asked to be put into seclusion: I didn't want to speak to anyone. I couldn't face them, just like I couldn't face him. The room was cool and dark, only a few faint beams of light from the moon managing to cast a little glow on the walls. My heart had finally managed to calm down, but I was so aware of its heavy beat in my chest. I could feel and hear each pounding beat pulsing through my head. If it hadn't been for this, I would have sworn it was lying on the floor in that courtyard in Aigen.

But I hastily bent down on my knees, the cold floor a welcome relief to the burning thoughts of before, and clasped my hands on top of the small bed. There were no thoughts in my head except for the all-burning desire to not feel ever again. I wanted to leave the last two months behind - I wanted to erase it from my mind, from my heart. But I knew I couldn't do that. I was different, I had changed. It had been nothing but a mere two months but my world was not the same. The abbey felt different, and I came to realise that it was because it was no longer home. I was an outcast once more - even more so than I had been previously. I had told myself that I would get this summer over and done with so I could finally take my vows. Now, I was so uncertain. I had returned but my heart had not. That night I had hastily changed out of my old dress and as I had taken it off, I had reached into a pocket and felt something. When I had taken my hand out I had been holding the Captain's handkerchief. The tears came freely then as I stared as the stitched inscription. Take care, it had said. She was the one that should have taken care, I had thought angrily. If she were still here, I would never have gone to Aigen. I would never have met that man and been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It wasn't fair.

The shame had coursed through me like poison at those thoughts. I could not blame her for my heartache. I should not have envied her, for she was gone and I was here. But I still felt no better. I had shed many tears onto that handkerchief, I cried for me and I cried for the late Agathe von Trapp until the sun had risen and blotted my room with bursts of fresh sunlight.

When I think back on my return to the abbey, I can still feel the gut-wrenching ache that had filled me then. The sorrow had settled into my heart and while I tried to smile through it, I was nothing more than an empty shell. All I could think about was the Baroness and the words she had spoken to me. I had been so incredibly foolish. To believe that a man like Captain von Trapp would have anything to do with a girl like me - it was laughable. It was too easy to picture his reaction of me leaving in my head. My imagination had been a comfort as a child when I had wanted to escape my aunt and uncle. It had expanded on the few treasured memories of my parents. But now I cursed it. The deep baritone laugh that I had become so enamoured with was now tainted with the vision of him being told a silly story about a naive girl who wanted the handsome sea captain to love her. It wouldn't have mattered if I was in seclusion or not, for the prison I had was a creation of my own doing. It followed me during the day, at meals and during prayer. The Captain and the Baroness drinking their expensive wine and here my mind would be the cruelest and throw up the paintings I had stared at curiously in his study. The ones of bodies intertwined and I would screw my eyes shut and clasp my hands together as if I was a small child trying to pray the monsters away.

* * *

 **A/N** To everyone that is still following this and reviewing, it means a lot so thank you. The next update may take a little longer as I will be a little busy and most of my writing can only be done on weekends. This kind of story is very taxing to write sometimes - though I do enjoy it - and so it can be a little tricky. As I've said, I find Maria harder to write so some chapters are quite like wading through treacle. Why I decided to write a whole story from her POV and in first person I'll never know. I like a challenge, I suppose!


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

It had only been a mere week, but it felt like a lifetime. I was like a ghost, wandering through the abbey with no real purpose. I could feel my heart and soul crying out, demanding to be freed. They didn't want to be bound between these stone walls. My soul cried out to have the sunshine on my skin and to see the smiles on the children's faces. And my heart. My heart wanted a man, a man that I could not have. So I let myself drift away and not even the gentle hymns sung by the sisters were enough to ease my suffering.

On the eighth day of my return to the abbey, when the sun was just beginning to rise, I paused in my task of pruning one of the large orange trees in the abbey garden. The scent was heavy and I plucked one of the ripe fruits from the tree and clawed at the skin until the juice began to run down my hands. We were not supposed to eat the fruit, not until it had been cleaned and cut into crisp pieces and handed out. But I never listened and then I just hadn't cared. I sat on a nearby stone bench and slowly tore away at the orange, completely unseeing as I felt the cool morning breeze begin to seep in. It was still only early light, and the high walls of the abbey made it feel even earlier. I felt caught between night and day, belonging to neither. I had been urged - quite firmly - by the Reverend Mother to get some fresh air and so here I was. It was easier to go outside in the early hours when the rest of the Sisters were still sleeping. It was quiet and still in the garden, peaceful. Yet my mind was still buzzing.

The previous day I had been called into the Reverend Mother's office. Her voice had been gentle and warm, and the cool exterior that I had tried to wrap myself in had melted at seeing that kind face. My words had tumbled out, frightened and so unsure. "Why did they send you back to us?" she had asked and I felt my chest tighten as my head shook, my hands twisting my habit between my fingers. I had quietly told her that I had left Aigen, that they had not been unkind. That I had been frightened. I had needed to get away. That I couldn't face him. The Reverend Mother had been quiet, her gentle eyes had observed me before she had asked that shattering question.

"Are you in love with him?"

I cannot accurately describe the fear and humiliation I felt at those words. It had been as if someone had grabbed me round my middle and squeezed, for it had been a struggle to breathe and my skin felt tight and wrought with tension. I shook my head vehemently. I didn't know, I had told her. But the Baroness had said I was. The Reverend Mother barely moved as I told her about what had transpired in that house only a few nights before. Always a kind face and a soothing voice her words had meant to comfort me, but I had not felt any better. I felt worse for saying it aloud. That now it was undeniably real. That it hadn't been a terrible dream. I regretted it as much as I had that sunny afternoon when I had gotten it into my head to speak his name while in the library. I couldn't take my words back, and even if I could, I knew my face betrayed me. I had never been any good at lying. And now I wanted so much for it to be over, to forget of it all. I wanted to take my words back. I wished I could have lied. Speaking of it had truly made me realise that I did know. In my heart, I knew how I felt and I was ashamed.

I took a bite of the orange and haphazardly wiped some of the juice from my chin, making my hands sticky. I was lost in my snakepit of thoughts as I chewed. The Reverend Mother had tried to coax me into returning to Aigen but I had been adamant that I wouldn't go back, that I couldn't go back. It was wrong, I had told her, I had been on an errand of God and I had failed. The Captain would marry his Baroness soon enough anyway and he would forget all about me. He'd get over it, just like the Baroness had said. I do not think my heart could have borne to go back.

But I couldn't stay here either. My half-hearted attempts to convince the Reverend Mother I was ready to take my vows had sounded false even to my own ears. I knew I wasn't prepared, that I never would be. It had become so painfully clear since I had left Aigen. But I had nowhere else to go, no other family, no home. I had nothing. This suddenly had caused anger to bubble within me. And I had aimed all that misguided resentment and hurt at the Captain. I blamed him, for I had felt he had ruined my life. His questioning words about my vocation haunted and teased me mercilessly. "You aren't made to be a nun," he had said. And he had been so right that it enraged me. And so I blamed him for my failure to become a nun, I felt that he had stolen my life away as efficiently and with as much skill at a pickpocketer. But he hadn't. He had not taken anything that I hadn't given to him willingly.

We had sat in those warm chambers in silence before the Reverend Mother had sighed and offered me a new chance to live the life I was born to live. "There is a school in Paris and they need a new music teacher," she had said. My anguish had been forgotten for a moment at those words. Paris? I had never been out of Austria. And my intrigue must have shone in my eyes for the older woman had smiled at me and continued on, telling me of her sister who had a small school, mostly filled with orphans - just like me. "You will catch the train the day after next," she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, "Sister Berthe will take you to the station." My heart that had been so empty over the last few days began to swell at the idea. I could live in the school and be able to share the love I had in my heart with those that needed it, the Mother Abbess said. I couldn't have agreed any faster. And honestly I couldn't have said whether it was the call for adventure or just an excuse to run away. To run away from this country and it's sea captains. To run away from everything I had failed to do.

A chance to begin living all over again.

After, I had shuffled down the deserted corridors and back to my room. I was still alone, not wanting to be in the company of the other postulants. Quietly I had began to pack my few possessions back into my carpetbag, all the while thinking that in two days I would be on a train to Paris. The door had opened then, and Sister Berthe had come in, her face set in stone as she eyed me carefully.

"Leaving us again, Maria," she said. It wasn't a question, more an accusation for it was said in the same tone that one would chide a child for stealing a freshly baked cookie.

"Yes, Sister Berthe," I said, neatly folding my spare nightgown and placing it carefully in my bag. I moved towards the window, not wanting to see the expression on her face and stared out at the blue sky. I felt no urge to be a part of it. I suddenly wanted to stay where I was, the outside world seemed large and too unpredictable. I heard the bells signaling midday prayer and softly smiled as I heard the patter of feet outside the door. Sister Berthe did not move and I turned to meet her stare and her brow furrowed even further as her lips pursed. I gave another half-hearted smile. Sister Berthe would always be the same, I knew, she was a constant rock.

The abbey was suddenly full of comfort and charm, and I knew it was because it was familiar and I was once more scared of the unknown, my confidence seeming to have disappeared completely. What had seemed like a wonderfully thrilling idea in the safe haven of the Reverend Mother's office was now silly and I wondered if I could convince the older woman that I could be a nun, that I could prove myself. I felt the tears threaten, my smile sliding away and I took a steadying breath as my hands twisted together as I stood there.

Sister Berthe must have noticed this lack of excitement and her lips pursed even further.

"What an odd, unsatisfactory child you are," she said. "I can't make you out. You are a lucky girl to have such opportunities. Not happy here, not happy with the von Trapps and now you're not happy to be going to Paris." She shook her head and sighed. "A headache is what you are. Silly girl."

I said nothing for I felt she was right. I turned and stared out the window, seeing nothing yet taking it all in at the same time. I wanted to remember every detail about Nonnberg, even the way the sky looked as the clouds drifted by from this very window. The way the wind rattled a loose pane of glass, the way the flaking bits of paint crumbled on the walls and the smell of old sheets and dust.

Sister Berthe huffed from behind me and then said, "I'm sure you'll find plenty of things to do in Paris." I heard her move closer to me, the sound of her sensible shoes tapping across the hard floor and set to stacking my small collections of books, tutting as she came across the few romance novels I had stashed away. "Lord forbid you get near any boys but if you do I'm sure you'll find some all in your own class. You can have your own little set of friends, and needn't be at my beck and call as much as you are here." She paused and I felt her eyes on the back of my neck. She gave an exasperated sigh. "I thought you were so excited about Paris? I thought you couldn't wait to get out of here with the way you were always off to that mountain."

"I've got used to it here," I said quietly, finally dragging my eyes away from the window and turning to face her.

"Well, you'll get used to Paris then, Maria," she said and carefully starting placing my books into my bag. "Why you got it into your head to be one of us, I'll never know. The Good Lord has a plan for us all." She paused in her task and looked at me, her expressions softening. Looking back, I know how she must have felt.

For she did care about me, she cared a great deal. I had found her overbearing and controlling then, as if she wanted me to never leave and forever be under her thumb and her rules. But Sister Berthe wanted the best for everyone, she wanted them to flourish. Her words were never coated with niceties, she told hard truths that one sometimes did not wish to hear. But she knew that she must say to them. Now that I have children of my own, I know the way your chest feels; that sick tight feeling and the way your jaw clenches when your own child has suddenly lost all fight. It's painful to see a child suffer, but even worse to see them give up, to have no more will left. Just like a dog used to being whipped, inevitably waiting for another lashing to come and not daring to stop it - not even caring to. With my face drawn in a sort of pale mask, I must have looked pathetically pitiful and sounded even more so.

Out of the comfort of the Reverend Mother's office, Paris did not seem as exciting or alluring. I had no choice, no where else to go. And in my head I played out the way it would happen when I got the train the next day. I would be taken by Sister Berthe, her holding my guitar while I dragged behind with my carpetbag. The whistle of trains would be loud and the station would be thronging with other patrons all clamouring to catch their own train. The smoke would billow and coat the station in its thick haze before it dissipated. And then I would see a small mop of dark brown hair and instantly I would recognise Marta, and then I'd see the soft blonde hair of Louisa and hear a shout from Kurt as he yelled over the sound of the station blaring bell calling in the next train. My mind didn't need a reason as to why the von Trapps were at the station, maybe they were off on a little summer trip or maybe Herr Detweiler was there too, standing on the platform with the children while the Baroness clung to the Captain. They would be wishing the couple a marvelous time; off to Vienna to see some exquisite opera or attend another grand and glorious party.

It didn't matter, my mind only seemed to want to create the most painful torture it could. As if the more despondent I could make myself, the more I could atone for the improperness of my feelings. I would feel the weight of my carpetbag not only in my hands but in my chest when the Captain would eventually see me. He would excuse himself from the group and confidently make his way over to me, nodding politely to Sister Berthe as he approached. And I would just stand there in my awful dress and pinching shoes, while in my head a chorus was yelling, "I love you so much. I'm terribly unhappy. This has never come to me before, and never will again."

But I wouldn't say this. I would just make a painfully gauche comment about the weather and we would be like strangers with nothing more to say to each other. The bridge that I had felt crossed would be gone and we would be once more standing on opposite sides of the great gnawing ravine. My voice would be painfully polite and I'd tell him I was off to Paris and how I could hear his deep chuckle and see the glint of amusement in his eyes as if he really was before me now. He'd wish me well - he might even take my hand for the fourth time, for the last time, and let his lips hover over my knuckles before they lightly touched my skin. It would be over so quickly yet the feel of it would sear across my skin before I was pulled away by a disgruntled Sister Berthe and her boney hands were pushing me into the train carriage.

The sun was higher now as the new day finally broke and I kicked the orange peels absentmindedly with my feet. Last night I had cried once more into the handkerchief with the neatly stitched name of the man I loved and its words of taking care. It had been such a silly thing to do, keeping that handkerchief. I should have gotten rid of it. But it was the only thing I had that was his. In some of my darker moments, I would get it into my head that he'd be so frustrated he'd left it with me and was probably furious that I had something so precious. But not even that would make me return. And I angrily told myself he had his Baroness Schraeder to make him another one. It didn't matter.

That small piece of fabric hadn't even been enough for my tears last night anyway and I had resorted to flinging myself on my small bed and burying my head in my pillow. My eyes were surely still swollen today and my face blotchy and pale. Even my lips felt worn from the countless times I had worried them between my teeth. I was exhausted and I had never felt like this before, not even when my parents had died. I had been so young then and had not truly understood the kind of pain that love could inflict. And it wasn't just the Captain, there were the children too. I felt so guilty for abandoning them, it ate at me and twisted its way through my heart. I told myself they'd all forget me and maybe someday one of the children might say, "Oh, remember Fraulein Maria, she was always late." And then someone else - Brigitta I told myself - would chime in with, "She had that ugly dress." Then they'd all laugh and move on to talk about something else. I'd be nothing more than the young girl who was always late and wore an ugly dress.

There was a creak nearby as somebody came through the iron gate and into the garden. I quickly stood up and tried to make myself look busy, not wanting to get into trouble nor wanting to converse with anyone. I was licking the sticky, sweet orange juice from my hand when I heard them walk up behind me, their footsteps even and heavy before they came to a stop.

"The Reverend Mother said I could be here before you ask," I said, grabbing another orange and tossing it into the basket I had on the bench.

They said nothing and I didn't care, they could please themselves. I didn't think anyone would be up this early - save for the few nuns that took to chapel at this hour.

"You promised me you'd never wear black satin," came the voice. A voice I didn't think I'd hear ever again.

I dropped the orange I had in my hand as I spun around to see Captain von Trapp standing there. He looked so out of place in the small abbey garden amongst our little vegetable patches and mess of fruit trees. He was so large and shiny that he didn't look real.

Oh how I had pictured this moment. Sometimes it had been at the station, sometimes it had been me walking to the station because Sister Berthe couldn't take me and he would drive by and stop for me. Sometimes, I would dream that I'd go back and I'd stand at the bottom of the terrace stairs and he'd race down them before taking me in his arms. I never pictured him here though.

"It's not satin," I said dumbly, fiddling with my habit. "It's linen."

We stood in awkward silence for a moment and I kept wondering if he was really there. Maybe I had fallen asleep or was I just acting this fantasy in my head? It wouldn't have surprised me. It couldn't be real. Upon seeing him my heart had felt fit to burst and I had had to restrain the urge to throw my arms around him. I blinked, yet he still stood there.

"What are you doing here?" I asked suddenly, my words coming out clunky and breathless.

"You left m-us," he said, his brow creasing in confusion. "You never said goodbye, not even to the children. I wanted to know why."

"I left a note," I said, my hands hanging by my sides as I fought the urge to run away again.

"Hmm," he said as he walked past me and sat down on the bench and taking an orange out the basket. "The children tried to visit you, but they were told you couldn't see anyone." All I did was nod as he tossed the fruit carelessly with one hand and caught it effortlessly with the other. "Which I think is completely ridiculous. You were supposed to stay with us for the summer and then you just up and leave." His tone was more urgent now, his frustration clearly seeping into his words.

"I said, Captain, that I missed the abbey," I retorted, letting my own anger take over gladly. Oh, it was so invigorating to feel something after a week of guilt ridden numbness.

The man snorted and gestured around. "Clearly," he snapped but then he eyed me and added, "though I hear you are leaving again?"

"Who told you that?" I asked. "And who let you in here?"

"The Reverend Mother," said the Captain, pushing himself off the bench and coming to stand in front of me. He tossed the orange back in the basket. "She tells me you are off to Paris tomorrow."

"Yes," I said and clearly my expression must have given me away for he shook a finger accusingly me in my face.

"You don't even want to go!" he said. "You have a problem with Paris, Fraulein?"

"No! I'm sure Paris is lovely," I said, "I've always wanted to go!" I fiddled with my habit, my eyes dropping to watch my fingers twist the fabric. "But it's still not home."

"Why in heaven's name go if you don't want to?" the Captain asked, his words sharp and quick. It was making me feel off balanced.

"I have to," I said, continuing the stare at my hands, "you know that. I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Why can't you be a nun here, why must you go there?" he demanded.

My words faltered there and I looked up at him. His brow was furrowed and his hands were nervously fidgeting by his sides. I knew it meant he was agitated but I didn't understand why and I didn't understand why he was here. That aside though, I had assumed the Reverend Mother had said why I was going to Paris. That I was not to ever take my vows.

"I am not going to be a nun," I said, "The Reverend Mother has a sister who runs a small school for the less fortunate. I am to be their music teacher." The man just stared at me. I suddenly felt the need to justify myself and my new path in life to this man. "I will get board, and meals, and I can have time to myself," I went on, "And I'm sure I can then I can explore the city, see what those city lights look like, and I can feel a different breeze on my skin." The words kept spilling out of my mouth, as if I was trying to make it sound so grand and exciting to the both of us.

"You're not taking vows?" he asked, his voice low and his face suddenly an unreadable mask. I shook my head. He seemed to think for a long while, as if he was frozen in time - just like the day I had come down the villa staircase and found him with my tea in hand. Then suddenly, he seemed to come back with a sort of determined glint in his eyes and a quirk to the mouth that made me remember how I had once compared him to a tiger. "Aigen or Paris? Which would you prefer? You can take your choice."

"Don't make a joke about it, it's unfair," I said, "and I think I had better leave and say goodbye now, Captain, I need to finish packing."

"If you think I'm one of those people who try to be funny this early in the morning you're wrong,' he said. "I'm invariably ill-tempered in the early morning-"

"You're ill-tempered no matter what time of day," I said not liking this conversation one bit nor his sudden cocksure attitude. It was a shock to find that I had missed him at all. He was so arrogant and sure of himself that I wanted as far away from him. I didn't need his mockery.

For a moment I thought he might have snapped at me but he didn't, he just laughed as if I had told some hugely humorous joke. Maybe he had suddenly gone mad, I thought.

"Why are you here, Captain?" I asked, my tone was exasperated and I sighed heavily.

"I repeat," he said, ignoring my question, "the choice is open to you. Either you go to Paris or you stay here with me."

My mouth open and closed for a second as I tried to understand the baffling suited creature before me. Surely he could find someone else to look at his children?

"I'm not going to be your governess, if that's what you're asking," I retorted, crossing my arms.

"No, I'm asking you to marry me, you little fool."

I waited for the moment where I would surely wake up and find myself asleep on the bench beneath the orange tree but it didn't come. I just stood there, staring at the man in front of me as if he had just grown two heads.

My arms dropped to my side. "I'm sorry, what?" I said.

"I asked you to marry me, Maria," he said.

"I'm not the sort of person men marry," I said stupidly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I felt stunned, I didn't seem to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. But then I remembered.

"The Baroness," I blurted, "What about her? Aren't you marrying her?"

"Elsa?" he said, the confidence waned a little then and he awkwardly scratched behind his ear. "Well I had planned on it but no, I don't want to marry her. I want to marry you."

Maybe he had gone mad, I thought. Or, maybe I had? Surely I should wake up now? I gave my head a little shake but I did not find myself to be dreaming. I was still standing there in the sprawling yet inviting mess of the abbey garden as the wind rustled the leaves and the iron gate vibrated in its frame. And the sea captain that had desperately clung to every thought and feeling I had the past week still stood in front of me.

"But I don't belong to your sort of world," I said, "I don't know how to host a ball, or waltz, or which fork you are supposed to use during meals - I just always use my salad fork. I don't belong in Aigen." I didn't belong anywhere, I thought.

The Captain fixed me with that unrelenting look that left me breathless. "What do you know of Aigen?" he demanded, "You were there, what? Two months? Barely. Besides, I'm the person to judge that, whether you would belong there or not." He took at step closer to me and I felt somewhat transfixed. "You think I ask you this on the spur of the moment, don't you? Because I can tell you don't really want to shut yourself up in that school. You think I ask you to marry me for the same reason you believed I drove you about in the car, yes, and gave you that dress and hat. To be kind. Don't you?'

"Well, yes," I said. I did.

"One day," he went on, "you may realise that philanthropy is not my strongest quality. At the moment I don't think you realise anything at all. You haven't answered my question. Are you going to marry me?"

None of it seemed real. It was all too absurd for my young mind to comprehend. This sort of thing didn't happen to people like me. And it didn't happen in convent gardens at six o'clock while the rooster called in the morning and the sun changed the light from a dark purple to a misty grey. I had never considered this as a possibility. I had once, during one of our drives back from the abbey, gotten lost in the idea of him become deliriously ill. All of his guests had been gone and so I had to help nurse him back to health. It had all been very terribly romantic in my head - though my mind hadn't been capable of picturing him in anything other than his usual suit jacket which had somewhat ruined the illusion.

"Will you please take that bloody thing off," he said, dragging me back to the present. I realised I had my hand under my wimple and was anxiously rubbing my fingers against my temple. Before I could think he had yanked it off my head. "I don't see why you need to wear this if you aren't to be a nun and quite frankly, I don't want you to wear it right now. It's not appropriate."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I'm going to kiss you."

I stared at him. "You are?" I swallowed, he moved closer to me and I couldn't move.

"Mhmm."

"Are you supposed to announce it like that?" I babbled on, as I felt his hands gently move to my arms and tug me towards him. "That's not what-"

His lips found mine then and I froze. When you've lived a life that I had had up to that point, this sort of thing had never really seemed a possibility. My few romantic imaginations about the Captain had paled to this. I couldn't have dreamt of how hot his mouth felt against mine nor the way his hands managed to snake around my waist and pull me closer. The sweet tang of orange I had been eating earlier was still on my lips and on my tongue, and now suddenly so was he. It was intoxicating.

I knew, from this moment on, that any time I smelt or tasted oranges I would forever picture this moment. I would feel his breath as it ghosted across my skin, feel the way his mouth moved against my own and how his tongue sought to deepen the kiss. I felt feverish and was now pressing so close to him, as if trying to fuse as together so that we would never be apart. My skin was tingling and hot, and I felt a hunger that I'd never felt before, a hunger of the flesh.

There was nothing anymore except for him. I'd never dreamt that this was what love was like. That passion was like an untameable beast that demanded its needs with utter abandon. The love I felt for him was like nothing I had ever experienced, it had been slowly simmering the last few months, and now that I had finally acknowledged it, it uncoiled and ignited within me. I didn't think it could get any more demanding. But it did. The moment his lips had left mine to trail a scorching path down my neck, the beast within the flames had roared to life and my hands had gripped those broad shoulders with desperate need. There was no warning and I was gone, taken by the tide and drowning in him. I wasn't scared - I should have been - but he was my captain and I trusted him. I loved him so much that I cared for nothing else.

His heavy breathing, coupled with the way his voice growled my name, only made me wilder. I desperately sought his mouth again, feeling his lips curve into an amused grin as I, with keenness but little skill, nipped at his bottom lip.

I wasn't me anymore. I was an animal. Desperately hunting for something I didn't understand.

And he had asked me to marry him. And I had said yes.

* * *

 **A/N** Thanks again for all the encouraging reviews on this one. I've said it before but this is honestly quite exhausting to write at times. This is about the half way point for this story as one chapter of Maria's life closes and a new one begins. I wish I could say things get easier for her now that she is to be engaged, but that would be a lie.

I don't know anything about convent rules regarding men but I'm not too fussed on accuracy. This story is set in a world where Salzburg borders Switzerland after all.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Suddenly I had gone from being so desperately full of sadness to being entirely consumed by the giddy excitement of being engaged. It was as if I were a new person and had left the old me behind. All her sadness, all her heartache. It was all forgotten. Drowned out by kisses and touches that left my skin burning. Before I could catch my breath, the Captain had taken my hand and pulled me out of the garden and through the winding, empty halls of the abbey. There had been a brief conversation with the Reverend Mother, and all I can recall now is her eyes, those kind, gentle eyes, and the softly spoken words. Those words I do not remember, but that hardly mattered, her expression and tone spoke for itself. "Are you sure?" they had asked, and my dazed expression and the way my hands held onto the Captain had spoken for me in answer.

The sun had risen entirely when we left the abbey, the Captain had hold of my carpet bag in one hand and my guitar in the other. He was striding ahead of me as I followed as if in a dream. The sun was shining and chasing the crisp chill of night away as I tried to keep up. I had hastily been given the dress of a new postulant, and it was not the sort of thing I would typically wear, I could barely move my legs for the tight skirt, but it didn't matter, I barely registered the discomfort. I truly felt as if I was someone else as I climbed into the familiar car and leant back in the seat, listening to the sweet song of birds as they welcomed a new morning. As we pulled away from the abbey, the car slowly crawling through the bustling streets, I watched as people began their day. The small boy waving newspapers; a woman walking hurriedly towards the train station; a man, in a fine suit and sporting an enormous moustache, sipping thoughtfully on a large coffee at a corner cafe. It was like any other day, for those people. But not for me. As we left town, the streets becoming wider and the noise dimming to that of just the car engine and the soft music from the radio, I turned my head away from the road to look at the man driving.

I am going to marry him, I told myself as I took in the sharp jaw and the aquiline nose. What would we do every day? I wondered. I blinked and tried to imagine my life. I started with something I knew, something safe - the children. I would wake them every morning and help them dress. And then we would all have breakfast together, and maybe during these beautiful summer days, I would insist we ate on the terrace. Yes, that would be it. We could all sit in the sun enjoying our food before the younger ones would take the bread from the table and run down towards the lake to toss crumbs to the ducks. And I would laugh and follow them. While the children played, I would be in the garden, finding all those delightful wild plants that flourished despite Klaus's best effort to tame them. No more cream roses, I told myself. I would fill the house with colour, and I could just picture Frau Schmidt's approving smile and feel her pat on my hand in that assuring fashion she always seemed to do. "Baroness von Trapp, how simply gorgeous these are," she would say and I could picture the stupid grin on my face even as I tried to act dignified.

Baroness von Trapp. No Fraulein. I would be Baroness von Trapp. I tried to picture myself giving orders to the maids and imagine the way they would do their little curtsy whenever the housekeeper or butler ordered them about. They would do their little polite bob and then say, "Yes, Baroness von Trapp." It seemed so absurd yet so invitingly exciting the more I thought of it.

"What are you grinning about?" came the amused question, pulling me out of my daydreaming.

He was staring at the road, yet I somehow managed to feel like he was staring at me. I blushed.

"Oh, nothing," I said, shaking my head yet unable to get rid of my silly grin. "I just cannot believe I am sitting here with you. That I am going back to Aigen. That'll I see the children again."

The car suddenly slowed down before it was smoothly pulled over on one of the heavily tree-lined roads. The Captain parked and turned to face me.

"I feel that we should talk before we get back to the house," he said.

I suddenly felt panic bloom in my chest, had he changed his mind? I didn't like the serious tone of his voice nor the intent way he watched me. As if I were some small animal that was prepared to flee. My smile instantly faded away.

"Oh?"

"Elsa - Baroness Schraeder," he began, and I felt my chest constrict at the mention of her name, "is still at the house. I thought it best to tell you. I have ended things with her but she is still my business partner."

"Business partner?" I asked.

I listened as he explained how she had been widowed herself and how her late husband had similar interests in the shipping industry. I hadn't understood much of what he told but the fine line had been that they still had work to do.

"It means I will liaise with her on occasion," he finished, his brow was furrowed. "She was quite understanding when I called our relationship off, so I have no ill will towards her-" I swallowed and tried to ignore the memories of the night of the party, my fingers beginning to twist in my lap-" but I may still need to go to Vienna from time to time. She is still at the villa and will be leaving this afternoon. I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

I felt frozen. My mouth opened and shut repeatedly, trying to debate whether or not to say anything.

"I see," I said after a while. How did I feel about that? I didn't like it. The words the woman had spoken to me the night of the party kept vying for my attention. I could hear her saying, "He'll get over it, men do," over and over. The panic must have shown on my face, for I felt his fingers gently touch my cheek.

"Please do not worry, Maria," he said, "I have no interest in Elsa Schraeder except business."

"What if you change your mind?" I asked, feeling every single worry from the last week come flooding back. "I told you I am not the kind of person men marry." All my little daydreams had suddenly vanished. "I am not a Baroness, what if I do the wrong thing or say something stupid?"

"Do you not want to marry me?" he asked, his voice low. He leant back from me and tapped a hand on the steering wheel. "I rather thought you loved me, a fine blow to my conceit."

"I do love you," I whispered hurriedly, "I love you dreadfully. I was crying all night because I thought I would never see you or the children ever again."

A smile pulled at his lips at this, and I regretted my words instantly. I shouldn't have been so honest. This wasn't how a baroness-to-be was supposed to act.

"One day," he began, the smile still playing on that dangerous mouth, "when you reach that exalted age of thirty-six that you told me was your ambition, I'll remind you of this moment. And you won't believe me. It's a pity you have to grow up."

"I'm not a child," I muttered angrily, "I do wish you wouldn't treat me like one."

He gave a low, disbelieving laugh. "I have never treated you like a child. I have treated you like the insubordinate governess-"

"I am not your governess anymore, Captain," I said quickly, feeling my temper begin to rise. I crossed my arms and sat stiffly, my back rigid with indignation as I stared stubbornly forward. I felt him shift closer towards me.

"O-ho," he said, felt his breath hot near my ear, "you never were my anything, but now you are, Fraulein." The way he stressed the word managed to send a shiver down my spine, and I turned to face him. "But don't worry, your duties will be almost the same. You will still take care of the children, and argue with me over anything you can dream of, I am sure. The only difference is I get to take that delightful mouth of yours with me at the end of the day and you won't be calling me 'Captain'-" a wicked smile followed and I swallowed hard as his hand returned to my face and a thumb traced over my bottom lip, which I was sure was still swollen from the kisses of earlier, "-but you can if you really want to." I frowned at the strange expression that came to his face then and that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come before his face softened. "I'm being rather a brute to you, aren't I? This wouldn't have been your idea of a proposal." I felt his thumb drag down my lip until he had a gentle grip on my chin. I was very aware of the beat of my heart in my chest and I could still taste the orange on my lips. He pulled me closer until my head was in the crook of his shoulder and I could feel his breath on my forehead. "We ought to have been in the gazebo, you in that blue dress with a rose in your hand, and a violin playing a waltz in the distance. And I should make violent love to you behind an oak tree." I shuddered at that and wondered how on earth love could be violent. "You would feel then you are getting your money's worth. Poor darling, what a shame. Never mind, I'll take you to Paris for our honeymoon and we'll hold hands in the city of lights."

"Paris?"

"Mmm," he mumbled against my forehead. "You ought to see Paris, every woman should. But not donned in a wimple, that is for damn sure."

"What about the children?" I asked. "Will they come with us?"

A low chuckle was felt against my skin before he pulled back. "No," he said, "Children do not belong on honeymoons. Max can look after them." The laughter left his face once more as he added, "I will need to talk to them first when we get back, they don't know I left to come get you."

"Do you think they'll be mad?" I asked. I hadn't even thought of the children's reaction. I had assumed they had been told.

"They adore you," he said, moving back in the seat and turning the car engine back on. "You know they do."

"Well, yes," I said, "but a governess is very different to a mother. They didn't want Baroness Schraeder to be their mother, why should I be any different?"

"They care about you," he said as we sped through the winding roads, "they did not care at all for Elsa. Don't worry about it, Maria."

It was so easy for him to tell me not to worry, but worry I did. I don't think I had heard or read a single story where the stepmother had been liked. But I told myself I wasn't wicked, despite my thoughts and failings. I did love them and I knew they loved me. I tried taking a deep breath and watched at the road became a little rougher until we were coming down the side of the house, the gates coming closer until we were driving through.

Once out of the car, we walked together until we came to the front door which was opened by a bored looking Franz.

"Franz," said the Captain, "please take Fraulein Maria's things and put them in the room in the east wing."

The butler's face didn't change but he glanced at me and then at the Captain. "The east wing, sir?"

The Captain waved an irritated hand at him, "Yes, the damn east wing, you heard me."

Leaving the butler and my few possessions behind, the Captain placed a hand on the small of my back and directed me towards his study. I couldn't see any other servants but I felt like so many eyes were on me. It wasn't until the door was shut did I feel as if I could breathe again.

"The east wing?" I asked. "Why can't I stay in my old room?"

He stared at me for a minute and then said, "You're not the governess so you cannot stay in the governess bedroom. Besides, it's part of the family wing, the west wing. It wouldn't be appropriate. The east wing is for guests."

"But what if the children need me?" I asked. "What if Gretl has a nightmare or Marta feels ill? They won't be able to find me."

He sighed. "We'll talk about it later, I need to speak with Max and the children first."

"All right," I mumbled.

"I will be back," said the Captain, "I will bring the children in a moment."

All I could do was nod, feeling very out of sorts. I watched him as he moved towards the door but then he stopped and turned to face me. His brow furrowed and I saw his fingers twitch.

"'Does forty-six seem very old to you?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, no," I said quickly, shaking my head and stepping closer to him, "I don't like young men."

"You've never known any," he said, and then he left me alone in the study, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

It was strange being in that room without him there. It seemed so empty. There was a clock on the far wall and I could hear the slow tick as it steadily counted the seconds passing by. I moved towards his desk and let my fingertips drag along the top of the dark wood. There were stacks of paper, diagrams of submarines and ships, letters, and all in the same slanting neat handwriting. I moved away from the desk and moved towards the shelves that lined most of the room, all filled with books and model submarines. My feet kept taking me around the room as I perused, trying to distract myself from whatever the Captain was telling the children. My feet made no sound as I moved, the plush rug soaking up every movement. I came to stand in front of a painting, the same one I had gazed upon my first time in this room. The man and woman depicted were unabashed in their intimacy and while I told myself I shouldn't look, I couldn't help but stare. Any embrace I had shared before now had been clumsy and sweet, nothing but chaste kisses on the cheek or a swift peck on the lips.

Now I had felt the agonising pull of desire, had felt it race down my spine and set my blood on fire. The memory of his lips on my skin and his hands in my hair were enough to make my face burn and I hastily moved away from the painting and went to sit in his desk chair. The leather creaked as I sat down and how odd it felt to sit on the opposite side of the desk. I glanced at the clock on the wall, it had been nearly twenty minutes already and I wondered what could be taking so long. Maybe I should have insisted we go together. We should have held hands and let the children see how happy we were. That would have been better than waiting here with my nerves and sinful thoughts. I was waiting for judgement. Would I pass?

My hands began to twist the longer I sat there, listening to nothing but the clock. I stood up and began to pace around the room in small circles, trying to get rid of the knot that seemed to be growing in my stomach.

I glanced at the door and then at the clock. I shouldn't be here, I told myself again. I should be with them. "Good news, children," is what he would have said, "your Fraulein is back and we're going to be married. We're very much in love."

Love. I stopped pacing and stared at the clock. He had not said anything about love. Just marriage. It had all been very rushed and it had been so early in the morning. And he was not a morning person. Maybe this was how it all happened in real life. There were no grand gestures and talk of nonsense. Not the kind of proposal you read about, where silly young men spoke of the moon and the stars and promised nothing and everything all at once. I wondered how he had proposed to Agathe, had he gotten down on one knee, promised her the world and then kissed her as he had kissed me… I shook my head. Trying to shove the thoughts away. I told myself to never think of that. Never. It wouldn't do.

With a deep breath, I told myself he loved me. He did. He didn't want to marry Elsa Schraeder, he wants to marry me. He wants to take me to Paris.

The door opened then and I sighed with relief, but it was short lived. The Baroness had waltzed in, her expression blank until she spotted me. An eyebrow raised and I felt myself begin to shrink back.

"Fraulein Maria," she said. Her words were pleasant enough but her eyes were not. "You've returned."

"Yes," I said, trying to sound confident.

"Well, doesn't Georg move fast," she said. "I suppose the children do need a governess. I just wouldn't have thought you'd be so keen on such an arrangement."

She spoke so candidly as if she knew the man better than I and was wondering if he had lost his mind - or if I had for that matter.

"I am not the governess anymore, Baroness Schraeder," I said quickly.

"Oh?"

"We are to be married," I said, keeping my head high. "He asked me this morning."

"Hmm," she said, a thin smile on her face. "Even faster than I thought. I would apologise for things I said, but trust me, you'll thank me one day."

"The Captain is an honourable man," I said, not liking her tone nor her manner. "And I am sorry that things didn't work out as you hoped. But I never meant-"

She raised a delicate hand, the many jewelled bangles on her wrist clinking gently. "Please, Maria, there is no need for that. And yes, Georg-" and here she stressed the name, a not-so-subtle reminder of who she was and who I wasn't. Making me feel silly and stupid for calling him by his title, "is an honourable man when it comes to his duties. That man would die for his country. But women are not something that men are willing to die for. Glory is. But women not. He was a sailor after all. And you would do best to remember that."

My face had contorted into that of disbelief. "I do not think the Captain is that sort of man, Baroness."

She laughed that lovely sound that I had so envied which now made my stomach writhe with unease.

"Oh, dearest. I have seen the way he looks at you. He's like a tiger." She paused and raised a sculpted eyebrow. "You ready for that kind of thing in your bed?" she said as her gaze took me in from head to toe and I had to resist the urge to look at my feet under her scrutiny. With a sniff, she went on, "Well, it's nothing to do with me anymore, I wash my hands of the whole affair. I rather wonder what his friends will think, but I suppose that's up to him. You realise he's years older than you?"

"He's only forty-six," I said, "and I don't care about that sort of thing anyway."

Another pitying laugh. "Clearly," said the Baroness, taking a slim cigarette out of the pocket of her skirt. She moved towards the Captain's desk and opened a drawer. There was the click of the lighter and then the smell of cigarette smoke filled the room. She slammed the drawer shut as she rested an elbow on her hip. Her eyes never left me the whole time. I was being judged by everyone it seemed. And I felt the well of envy rise at her confidence. She knew where to find the lighter, had no problem rifling through his things. Not like me. "Tell me," she said, taking a deep drag, her voice lower, "have you been doing anything you shouldn't?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Another laugh, another slow, deliberate drag of the cigarette. "Never mind. I always said you should never trust a nun." She paused and let her gaze take in every inch of me again. "You've led a very sheltered life, I'm sure. He's not very easy and you'll have to adapt yourself to his ways, you know. You will have your work cut out as mistress of this house. To be perfectly frank, my dear, I simply can't see you doing it." I wanted to yell at her, I wanted to tell her to stop talking. It was as if she was voicing all of my own fears. But I couldn't speak. "You haven't the experience," she went on, "you don't know that milieu. You can barely string two sentences together without yelling or singing at the top of your lungs. What are you going to say to all his friends? I don't think they would care about deers and cat's whiskers and whatever nonsense you've taught those children. The parties here used to be famous when she was alive. Of course, he's told you about them?" She didn't wait for me to answer, thank the Lord, she just kept talking. "I grant you he's a very attractive creature but, I'm sorry, Maria, personally I think you are making a big mistake. One you will bitterly regret."

She took one last drag of the cigarette before she tossed it effortlessly into the fire grate. With graceful footsteps, she moved towards the study door.

I knew I was inexperienced. That I was loud, gauche and young. I did not need her to tell me. I know now that it was all said to hurt me, as I had inadvertently hurt her. This man I had stolen from her without trying and she was lashing out at me with her words. But I was young and told myself I wouldn't care. I would forget all about her. I would be happy. We would be happy. And there was nothing she could do about it. He loved me, I told myself. He couldn't kiss me that way, and look at me that way and not love me.

A small smile graced her painted lips as she paused at the door. She walked back towards me, her eyes fixed on mine.

"Of course," she said, "you know why he is marrying you, don't you? You haven't flattered yourself he's in love with you? He might think he is but the fact is that those children need a mother, they were getting on his nerves he nearly went off his head. He admitted as much when he spoke with me yesterday evening. And of course, he would be so lonely in that bed all by himself. Really, he just can't go on living here alone…"

* * *

 **A/N** Apologies for the long delay on this one! As mentioned before, I can only really write on weekends and the past few I haven't been able to do as much as I would like. This one is pretty short, I think it is the shortest not including the prologue. This chapter, in particular, contains a lot of dialogue from the original novel and it was fun working them in and giving certain lines to the characters in TSoM. One character I have split between two which is interesting - Mrs Van Hopper. I have given dialogue to both Elsa and Sister Berthe. I couldn't make her one character in particular since she wouldn't really fit so it's been fun using her, she has some stinging lines. I hope you do enjoy it, it's not a very optimistic chapter and I know that Georg kinda seems like a jerk (well, he is) but this is all from Maria's POV and I include no other POVs so she is quite the unreliable narrator. Which I do love to play with!

Please do leave a review if you are enjoying this at all, it is really motivating to hear people's thoughts!


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